


life, interrupted

by fightfortherightsofhouseelves



Series: life, interrupted [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Also fluff and cuddles, Bring on all the tropes!, College AU, Drunk showers, F/M, Ginny's pov, Hinny, Mystery, Oral Sex, Part I of II, Porn With Plot, Self service fic, Shower Sex, Smut, Surprises, Texting, dad!harry, fluff with plot, romione, sexting?, sometimes even shameless smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2020-11-26 01:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 49,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20921888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightfortherightsofhouseelves/pseuds/fightfortherightsofhouseelves
Summary: What Ginny desires most is a hot shower. At the end of a long, emotionally taxing week she finally gets it. And then some. [College AU]





	1. where it all goes haywire

**Author's Note:**

> yes, this is a self service fic. self-indulgence ahoy!

When I applied for a graduate degree in Journalism, I didn’t for a minute stop to think that I’d have to start all over again. The tiny, crammed room in a dirty apartment, the obnoxious, party loving housemates, the constant feeling that nobody back home is missing me while I’m here missing everybody so much it makes my heart ache.

I didn’t once imagine the mess I can make if given the right setting, some negative happenings in the bare necessities department, and less than seven days.

My name is Ginny, by the way. Ginny Weasley. And this is my life, interrupted.

Interrupted how? Oh, it’s quite the story. Hold on tight.

Boredom is where all this started, I believe. This moving away and starting a new university programme again. It’s mad when you stop to consider that I already had a job, an undergrad diploma, friends, family, a cat and an ex boyfriend in Devon. On a second thought, the ex boyfriend could easily be scratched off the list but whatever. It’s not like I’m still thinking about it. Or being salty about it. What’s done is done and now I’m probably hurting my back irreparably moving boxes around campus, some 300 kilometres away from home.

In all fairness, life in Devon was easy, it had a routine and a sense of calmness to it. 

Unreasonably maybe, but exactly the easy, calm routine-y days is what I longed to escape. It’s what I thought about when I broke up with Dean - who I went to school with, or when I quit my job at the small advertising agency. 

I might as well admit it: I craved the hustle and bustle, dammit. The certainty that I’m my own person: not my Mum’s, not my six brothers’ baby sister, not the fourth employee in a team of five.

What I didn’t ask for, though, was this.

“Bugger all the frickin’ stores,” I curse under my breath as I exit the tenth shop in the nearby mall. “Have they all ceased to make trousers for human women?”

I need something that’s not posh, but also not night-at-the-pub.

I need something that’s not jeans, but it’s black and proper enough to work for an interview, but also laid back enough to wear with a cosy sweater and my cute metallic boots.

I need to not combust if the next bloody pair only goes up to my knees again. 

I’m pretty confident I’ll start throwing things if I’ll have to take off those old jeans one more time to try on another pair of useless trousers clearly not made to fit my butt but some tall gazelle’s who’s never had to stress over buying underwear because of course all existing pairs will fit her and won’t cut her buttcheeks inelegantly. 

Yeah, I’m hot tempered. So what?

I do cool off a bit when I finally find something that has a tall waist, doesn’t make me too short, doesn’t hover too low over my ankles and is cute. If only it didn’t take me four bloody hours and a half. 

You know what, maybe I’ll give up wearing jeans or trousers altogether.

Maybe I could live only on dresses and midi skirts. 

_ Maybe _ I’ll quickly pop into the Body Shop and reward myself for making it through a terrible first week at UCL and a new disgusting day. Little old me could do with some self care - self love whatever. 

And if you were wondering, this is precisely how I end up dragging myself through the September chill, pocket so much lighter (read: mostly empty), multiple masks, cleansers, soaps, face wash and moisturizers weighing down my battered tote. Amongst them, there’s one mask in particular I’m _ dying _ to try.

Soon as I’m through the door, eyes turned to slits start taking in the mess on the kitchen table, the muddy prints on the floor, the pile of thrash nearly bursting over, and I swiftly decide this day’s already been ghastly enough to add another row with Caroline and Juan to it. Some battles aren’t worth fighting - or not today, at least. 

Messy French woman. Annoying Colombian guy leaving food all over. Stupid multicultural environment.

I am aware I’m starting to morph into my mother’s daughter but that’s not a happy thought, is it? So I hastily skip to the loo, tea tree peel off mask in hand, as giddy as a little child presented with her first ever toy. 

“Pour a small amount of water, then mix until it turns into a paste. Apply over face with brush, let it dry then peel,” I read, brow furrowed. Sounds simple enough. I can do this.

Ah, yes, this day is finally getting better. I turn on the tap to draw a nice bath, salts, oils, candles and an episode of Friends included. It’s pampering time, folks.

Smiling contently, I mix and stir the gooey contents of the plastic container, aching to try some quality tea tree peel off. And so I mix. And I stir. Clockwise and reverse, like a spirited little witch in front of her simmering pewter cauldron. Mix, mix, mix all my (skin) problems away. 

But the goo remains just goo and the masks refuses to appear. How...anticlimactic.

Tentatively, I dip my trusty mask brush inside the greenish liquid and dab it over the clusters of freckles on my cheek, hoping beyond hope; but the stupid, useless thing rolls down my face in a slimy trail as an only result.

I am, however, a determined individual. I don’t get sidetracked just because. Thus I try stirring it some more and again I add a stroke of the brush to my face. 

A litany of filthy words clouds my mind when the would be mask slides down again and I chuck the container’s entire content down the drain, harrumph, wash my face and pat it dry with what I _ really _ hope is still an unused towel.

“At least I can soak my sorrows away,” I hum through gritted teeth, discard my clothes, ready to jump into the tub for some well deserved R&R.

A high pitched scream erupts from my lips as soon as my poor feet hit the ice cold water, so cold I have no doubt only hypothermia will be waiting for me before the clock strikes midnight. Me, over dramatic? I think not.

“Where’s all the hot water? Or the warm water? Or at least the water held at room temperature?” I cry again and shake my fist at an imaginary water company representative who’ll definitely hear from me first thing in the morning, ugh.

Disgusting day, abominable week, horrid new apartment. To quote my brother Ron,_ bloody hell. _

I gather my things and show myself out of the bathroom, furious and feeling deceived by whatever company is not providing hot water, by the Body Shop who promised a unique mask, by my own self as I’ve single handedly jeopardized my own capacity to provide a daily meal for myself. And no, it isn’t dramatic - skin care products cost a liver and a toe, I’ll have you know. At least if I could’ve been able to use them...Going to sleep on an empty tummy isn’t so bad when you have clear pores and glowing skin, right? Right?

I’m probably going mad. I’ve never lived on my own and can’t be expected to nail caring for myself on the first try, alright? I need to be more responsible and hold tight to my savings. Act like an adult. Take the bull by the horns, grasp the nettle, matters into my own hands. Yeah.

Empowered by my own self, I feel confident enough to pop into the uni’s pub on campus, only for a bit. Just till I blow off some steam, since _ me time _ got cancelled.

Scarf, jumper, some mints because the quality of my breath is questionable. Swearing in a way that’d surely make Ron proud, I trot down the couple hundred meters from the apartment to the pub, hating every second of it. Strolling through the crispy cool autumn wind is definitely not amongst my favourite pastimes, but a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do in dreary circumstances. 

I push the front door open with a swing of the hip and jump over the massive wooden threshold and into the commotion inside. Hoards of twenty-somethings chugging down ale, clinking glasses, laughing loudly, shouting over a Kooks song. 

I shiver and close the door behind me, hastily walk towards the bar for one pint. One pint, that’s all and then it’s right back home for me. Tomorrow might be Saturday, but I want to get an early start and jog, shower (if the water company feels merciful), and start that paper I need to turn in on Tuesday. 

Look at me being a proper busy bee. And Fred and George thought I couldn’t do this. Ha! I’ll show them. I’ll show every one of them. 

“One pint, please,” I shimmy on the tall bar chair and order with an easy smile. I’ve got this. This Freaky Friday kind of day ends here. 

The hard glass zooms towards me and I take a swig. Cold, rich, and a little earthy, it slides down my throat and I shiver again. Not great, not terrible, but it gets better as I take another sip and then another.

I bob my head to Muse’s Uprising, humming it, my fingers playing to the music on the sticky surface of the bar. 

_ We will be victorious _

_ (So come on) _

I chant along to the chorus and prepare to dive right into the next verse when I feel a pair of eyes and a grin fixing me from nearby. How rude. 

I quickly spin around and there’s this bloke I’ve seen before, except now he’s not staring nor grinning. 

He seems not even to have noticed me. He seems aloof, casually tapping his long fingers on the bar, hair raven black and mussed all over. He seems...fit. 

How _terribly_ rude.

Perhaps having another pint isn’t too bad an idea. In the name of catching fit blokes in the act of staring, of course. 

So I lift a finger quite expertly to signal that this lady’s having another cold one and raise the glass in the general direction of my gawky neighbour. 

And to my surprise, he does the same: lifts his own beer up, smiles and then downs is like it’s nothing. Hmm, now I’m intrigued. 

This means war.

“What’s up?” I ask chattily, wobbling on my chair till it inches closer to him. 

His dark eyebrows shoot up for the briefest second. Clearly he wasn’t expecting such a brass move, but here I am. Twenty-four, freshly admitted into a grad programme, and ready to rumble. What’s he got?

“Only individual debt, the sea levels probably, and my interest in obtaining a second pint.” 

Wow. Pretty eyes _ and _ a smart mouth. 

“You study here?” I go on, knowing full well he does. I’ve seen him around, lazily sprawled on the grass, back leaning on a lumpy old willow, one hand playing with a battered tennis ball as the other held a number of Bike magazine. I would recognise it anywhere, I grew up with it. My eldest brother, Bill, he fancies leather jackets, fanged earrings and long hair - in spite of Mum’s never ending protests. She nearly gave herself a coronary when Bill arrived home on a motorcycle. I was only seven and watched it all from my room, shaking with glee and laughter. It was the best day ever.

Anyway, back to the present and fit sassy blokes. 

“Criminal Law, yeah. Two year programme. You?” He dips his head and takes another swig.

“Journalism. One year.”

“New meat?” 

“Fresh as a daisy,” I shrug, then hide my face in a long sip from the pint.

He smiles genuinely and chinks his beer to mine, “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” I agree and slowly relax. It’s been a long, ugly day. 

We ease into a friendly, innocent chat, two strangers in a crowded pub, straining to hear what the other has to say over loud rock music. 

Soon enough, he draws closer so I don’t have to shout myself hoarse, then I do the same. He talks close to my ear, and I do the same. 

I find myself telling him about my first week at UCL, describing this waterless, cruel day, ranting about trousers made for super models and savings accounts that are filled only with hopes and dreams because I absolutely did not give them any chance to carry my money.

He laughs as I dive deeper into my tirade and somewhere inside I feel warmer. 

“I’m Harry, by the way,” he scratches the back of his head and extends a hand.

I smile, involuntarily, “Ginny,” and feel his palm with mine. The calluses on his skin graze as our palms slide against each other. It lasts only a second but yet, for a slight moment, I feel like squeezing his hand harder, twining my fingers with his.

Must be the alcohol.

Or the musty scent of his breath as he talks about UCL.

Or the feeling of it hot against the back of my ear, mentioning professors and places I’m bound to forget before the song is over.

Somewhere in between a story about Ron, who we’ve established he’d like to meet, and a fascinating report on UCL nightlife, I give into the urge to order more alcohol. You know, because that’s always a good idea.

I buy us a stronger beer, he buys us shots. We down one each, we order another two. Two plus two equals four.

One tequila, two tequila, three tequila and his eyes are prettier than ever, emerald green and glistening in the dimmed pub lights. 

It’s warm inside, why do I keep my coat on? Here, extra layers no more. But yes to more tequila! 

Three more shots and I’ve never wanted to dance more in my life. My thoughts are spinning and so am I as I crash into his chest and he laughs and I laugh and we both dance, arms and legs tangled together. 

Pucker up, sweetheart. I’m way over my alcohol limits so this should be a fun night.

_ When I feel heavy metal _

_ (Woo-hoo) And I'm pins and I'm needles _

_ (Woo-hoo) Well, I lie and I'm easy _

_ All of the time but I'm never sure why I need you _

_ Pleased to meet you _

Woo-hoo, it’s that banger by Blur, I love it. Charlie, my second eldest brother, played it on the guitar all the time. Or was it Bill?

“Pleased to meet you,” Harry’s voice comes out in a slur.

“Me too, you’re pretty foxy,” I admit, prodded by his testimony.

“No, the song,” he laughs and pulls me hard against him. 

My face in the crook of his shoulder, us swaying and shaking to the music, the tequila shots, his cologne, his hands on the small of my back. It’s all coming through me in waves, image after image spinning at the back of my eyelids. Oh, fuck. 

“Oh, fuck,” I moan, dizzy.

Harry stops and looks at me, his nose inches from mine, eyes glazed over. He opens his mouth to ask something that sounds like “You want to?”, but nothing makes sense in this noise and uproar. 

I find it all funny, it’s all tremendously funny actually. I grin widely, my arms encircling him, locked at the base of his messy messy hair. It’s all woozy.

His lighthearted grin turns into a pucker of lips - that’s the action that usually precedes a kiss, isn’t it?

Yeah, it is. He’s kissing me! Fit staring bloke is snogging me!

_ We’re _snogging. Lips like those are hard to come across, mhm. Our mouths come together hard and strong, lips gliding over each other again and again, making my heart beat faster and hands to tug him lower over me so I can ah - 

I was going for the tongue slip, but he’s faster. Cheeky boy. Handsome boy.

There’s that earthy taste again, of beer in my mouth, the flavour of beer lingering on his tongue. Musty, rich and, oh, so good. My knees feel like butter, _ I _am butter in his hands.

One arm around my middle, he’s stumbling, taking us both outside. 

“My place?” Harry grins lopsidedly, round specs askew. Such a boy. Lovely boy.

I lean in conspiringly, draw him to my mouth by his jacket, “Do you have hot water?”

“What?” He snorts, but there’s nothing funny here. Not on my side. I’m all seriousness and professionalism, yes sir.

“Is your establishment provided with hot water?” I ask again, mimicking a person having a shower. That should help the point come across.

“Uh - yeah?” 

Harry staggers a bit as he straightens his back, his glasses, his checkered jacket. He’s cute. And I’m - what was the word? Woozy.

Cute boy disappears back inside before I can say “Lead the way” and I’m tempted to go after him and demand he fulfills his promise of a hot shower. But it’s good that I don’t, because here he is, right back next to me, over me, offering me my coat (huh, I thought it seemed a bit drafty) and a half finished bottle of tequila.

I grab him by the collar and press him to the pub’s brick wall, just to kiss him some more for clothing me like that, protecting me from the cold. Such a gentleman.

My knees buckle when the gentleman’s hand flies over my arse and squeezes tightly. 

“Harry?” I slur against his lips, holding myself up by a handful of his jacket.

“Huh?” 

He goes about his kissing business, undeterred. 

“Can’t hold up.” 

“What?”

“I can’t - can’ walk.”

I press my forehead into his cheek as I feel my body slide down his torso like goo. I am now the failed tea tree peel off mask. Get me at the Body Shop, I’m unreasonably expensive.

Apparently I’m also a sack of potatoes, because what else can I be hanging loose over Harry’s back as he marches into the night, hunchbacked and panting his way home, I hope. 

I ascertain that we’re both on board with my carefully laid out plan. 

“Hot shower?” 

He pants and grunts, “Five minutes.” 

I smile widely over the back of his head. No one’s ever made me this happy. I’ve said it before but what a gentleman.

I must’ve dozed off a bit because the next thing I know is I’m rolling (more like collapsing in a pile of limbs, really) on what I believe to be his bed. Harry takes a healthy swig of tequila from the bottle, hands it to me. 

I drink, the coat goes off.

I drink again, there comes the sweater. 

Shots, shots, shots from one mouth to another and all I’ve got left are my prized blue socks with little orange foxes round the ankles. Guess I should keep those on, don’t want to risk a cold on my first month in London. That’d be really silly. 

And it’s fabulous with socks on, it makes sliding through the hallway, fast ahead to the bathroom, feel like the unique experience it is and should be recognised as. 

Still, the lighting in Harry’s bathroom is not flattering. My hair’s a veritable rat’s nest, my breasts not very perky and my eyes a bit too glossy. Nothing that can’t be fixed with a hot shower, actually. 

“Harry?” I call, holding on to the sink. Who needs posture when you’ve got sinks.

Harry totters in looking deliciously disheveled and I’m pleased to notice that Criminal Law grad students have time to work out. I could spread this one on toast, with his little V lines, skinny body, and strong arms. Yeah, baby, flex those muscly arms some more.

“Alright, Gin?” He winks and that’s it, I’m a puddle.

“Shower?” I croak. 

Harry nods soberly as if truly understanding the gravity of the situation at hand. He turns on the taps with a quick work of his beautiful hands and before I know it there’s steam coming out of it. 

Ah, steam. Steam and hot water are connected, you know. How lovely.

“Ah, yes, splendid,” I acknowledge, delighted and crouch down to peel off my socks. 

We’ve already established Harry’s quite the gentleman, therefore he gathers me into his arms (taking your socks off proves to be too difficult a task in a state of questionable sobriety) and slowly plants my body inside the steaming hot shower. 

In all fairness, I’ve never been more delighted about being naked in my life.

One strong leg and then the other, and Harry’s in with me, water splattering all over, drenching his wild hair, flooding the round lenses of his glasses. He’s adorable. 

“You’re adorable,” I inform him. 

He takes me into his arms, my back pressed flush against cold bathroom tiles. My legs wrap around his middle and he kisses me gently, then harder, firmer, under the pouring hot water.

All I remember is the taste of tequila, magic, and bliss, followed by oblivion. 


	2. where I've mostly got this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so three chapters turned into four because there's a pretty big chance i won't have time to write over the next two weeks and figured what i've added so far would do better here than sit alone on my computer :) hope you like!

There’s this silly post students share back and forth on all possible platforms. It’s one of those posts that never stops being relatable and it goes something like “if university is soup, then I’m a fork.” But I think that’s bollocks. 

See here, if university is indeed soup, then I am definitely not a fork. Oh, no. I’m something more akin to a shovel or a hammer - and so is my head this beautiful morning, feeling as though a colony of pigeons have taken refuge inside my fragile skull and have started pecking at my brains like it’s the juiciest steak in town (or whatever pigeons prefer to eat). Peck, peck, peck, peck. Rap, rap, rap until they break my skull and put me out of my misery.

And when I try to open my eyes - oh, sweet lord have mercy. Let’s just say the metaphorical pigeons were a flock of angels compared to the excruciating pain I’m currently bathing in, so to speak. 

Need. Ibuprofen. Now.

Maybe I’ll ask this bloke sleeping next to me to bring me some and a fresh glass of water.

_ Maybe I’ll ask who now?! _

“Mornin’,” Sleeping Bloke says and yawns - and oh my god, is he naked?

“Do I - erm, do I know you?” 

In my defense, I do try to smile as I wrap the sheet around me because, goody, I’m naked too. 

Yup, completely starkers. I’m pretty sure that the fact that I can’t feel any underwear on me is related to me not wearing any and not to the gross headache I’m currently experiencing. 

Actually, do people really _ feel _ their underwear on them or…?

_ Anyway. _

“We, uh,” he pauses, a little befuddled. He does look rather yummy with that messy hair and those emerald eyes.

Wow, a deja-vu. Did I have those exact thoughts before?

“Yeah, we,” he tries again, utterly adorable. I’m guessing my face isn’t conveying my thoughts right now because Cute Bloke seems rather lost. I should be civil and help, then.

“We?” I say, very helpful.

He draws a long breath. Here it comes, I can feel it.

“We spent the night together.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

And it all comes back to me: the non-hot water, the pub, the sassy Criminal Law student, the beer, the shots, the dancing, the snogging, the shower...Oh, the shower.

Oh, fuck, the shower!

I had a one night stand in a shower.

Me, Ginny Weasley. Ginny-who-wouldn’t-do-it-with-her-parents-home-because-the-bed-squeaks-and-they-might-hear. _ Me _. And I’ve only been in London six days. Wow, I sure know how to make an entrance or what?

“How much do you remember?” I ask because clearly I understand what the important questions are.

“I...remember the shower,” Harry (oh, yeah, Harry! His name is Harry!) grins sheepishly. 

He props himself up on one elbow, gnaws on his bottom lip, “Do you - uh, do you remember it?” 

Involuntarily, I grin. Might as well admit it, my body will betray me anyway.

“Never had a better one.”

We’re grinning like two idiots. Correction: two naked idiots in a bed on a weekend day, with nothing else to do than -

“Fancy a bit of toast? I’m afraid that’s all I’ve got left,” he offers, green eyes turned shy again. 

Gotta say, my mind went on a different route, but I’m not one to say no to food. 

I join him at the small table in his equally small kitchenette after I succeed in locating all my discarded articles of clothing and quickly freshen last night’s breath with a bit of mouthwash found in his bathroom. 

He dawdles between the toaster and upper cabinets in white shirt and boxers, grabs two bags of Earl Grey and turns on the kettle. 

“Milk?” Harry asks, his head inside the tiny fridge.

“Please.”

“Brown sugar?”

“A man after my own taste,” I grin, cheeky and he blushes. 

There’s something irresistible about a man who does _ things _ to you under the hot running water of a shower and still blushes when you flirt with him the next day.

“So, last night,” Harry starts between a bite of toast and slurp of his tea.

“Yeah,” I smile into my own breakfast and oops, there’s my stomach somersaulting. 

“What - did I - ugh, bloody hell,” Harry frowns and pushes his round specs higher up his nose. 

Must admit, it is entertaining watching him gather enough courage to ask me whatever it is he’s torturing himself about.

“What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry if I crossed a line last night. I mean I’m not a casual shag type of bloke and I’m currently working myself into a right state wondering if I misheard you. Did I, erm, did I mishear you though?”

He’s so flustered and worried and even a bit jittery, all I want is to kiss him better.

“Not sure I’m following,” I respond, bemused.

Harry inhales and exhales a couple of times, squares his shoulders.

“You said ‘let’s…’?”

“Let’s?”

“When we were dancing on that Blur song, you said ‘let’s fuck’, right?”

Judging by the expression on his face, I’d say we’re both equally mortified.

It’s my turn to inhale and exhale.

“I said _ what _?”

“You...didn’t?”

There’s this last glimmer of hope in his pretty eyes that I really, truly do not want to crush.

I sigh. Long and hard.

“I said ‘oh, fuck’,” I start and Harry blanches. “No, please don’t make that face, no. Oh, god,” I get up and push my chair. I need to walk, I always do when I’m tense or nervous.

“I thought you said ‘pleased to meet you’ like in a sexy way, you know, and then I flirted back but you said you were just singing and then I felt like an idiot and, oh god, now I feel even worse,” I grab both my temples and massage them. Oh god, oh god, oh dear god.

“_ You _ feel bad?” Harry asks, a little unhinged, his hands white as they grip the table. “ _ I _thought a beautiful woman...propositioned me.”

I snort.

“Bugger the loud music,” Harry sighs, looking absolutely downtrodden.

“Hey,” I try to smile as I crouch next to him, one hand on his arm. “We’re both either deaf or a bunch of bloody idiots.”

Harry laughs, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I’m going with both,” his smile turns into a grin and there it is, the somersaulting resumes its wicked play inside my stomach.

“I don’t regret it, though,” he adds, emerald green eyes searching for mine. I could drown in them.

“Me neither. I got the hot shower.”

“Ah, now I feel used,” he scoffs playfully.

“A girl’s got to make her fair share of sacrifices to keep her hygiene game high,” I shrug. 

Harry raises both his palms, “Completely understandable.”

We ease into a comfortable silence, smiling, sipping the rest of our teas. It’s weird and nice, a bit thrilling and all very, very new, this serendipity that brought two twenty-somethings together in crisp, cool September night. Or was it tequila? Either way, this buzz in my veins, this faint tickling in the tips of my fingers, his genuine smile, my breath catching everytime his eyes meet mine...

At one point, his phone rings but he simply shoves it back into his pocket. 

“I should probably go if I want to get whatever small amount of homework done this weekend,” I try to convince myself as I get up.

“Oh. Oh, yeah, me too. I mean homework, I wasn’t suggesting -”

“Harry, relax,” I giggle, he’s so cute when he gets all jittery, “I reckon we’re pretty well acquainted with each other by now, no need to fuss over innuendo.” 

His shoulders visibly relax and he scratches at the back of his head, a small dimple forming on his right cheek. 

“So what do people say at the end of a one night stand anyway?” I ask casually as we’re about to say goodbye.

“No clue, never had one of these until yesterday. But don’t worry, I’ll ask around, get a survey up and running so we can find out.”

A moment stretches between us, an opportunity to say more, to _ be _more.

But I have a bad habit of waving those one of a kind moments goodbye, so I shake his hand and step out and keep walking even after I hear the door close behind me.

Because I shook his hand when I could have snogged him silly and ask him to be my boyfriend forever and ever.

Heavens have mercy, I shook his hand.

Someone kill me or I will.

_____

The weekend passes in a blur (haha, Blur, like the band. Someone help!) of academic papers, headaches, memories that resurface when I least need them, Facebook stalking with zero subtlety, and in comes Monday with double Political Philosophy. My brain is not prepared.

John Rawls.

The veil of ignorance.

Thought experiments.

Morality.

And this girl next to me with her hand springing up at lightspeed to answer everything. I can see the snotty gits of the class rolling their eyes at her, but she ignores them like it’s nothing and keeps on spewing wisdom. 

I like her.

“Ginny,” I introduce myself over break time.

She smiles kindly, “Hermione.”

“Journalism?” 

“International Law, second year.”

“Ah, wow. So philosophy?”

“Guilty pleasure,” Hermione shrugs and I can’t help but grin.

“Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

We giggle our way through this break and the next, ending up sharing lunch on the front steps. She makes amazing avocado sandwiches, Mum would straight up adopt her if they ever met.

Mum would also adopt Harry if she ever laid eyes on his skinny body and disheveled hair and - uhh, I keep remembering his arms flexing under the weight of my legs, hot water pouring over his muscles as we -

“Ginny, are you alright? You seem distracted,” Hermione waves more avo toast at me.

I close my eyes.

“Promise not to judge me if I tell you?”

Hermione snorts, “I’m nearly twenty-six and still need my professors’ validation, who am I to judge?”

We catch each other’s eye and laugh, loud and genuine as the September sun warms our cheeks. Everything might turn out alright in the end, who knows?

“Right. There’s this messy haired disaster whom I’ve gotten drunk on tequila shots with Friday night and then kind of - sort of had amazing sex in his shower? And then I nearly ran home the next morning because I panicked and shook his hand when we said goodbye,” I recount, palms covering my face.

There’s a hard silence and I move my fingers enough to see Hermione looking as if someone’s smacked her over the head with Rawls’ “A Theory of Justice”. 

“What’s his name?” She asks, her lips pressed together in a straight line.

“What?”

“I asked what is this person’s name?”

“Why?”

“Tell me. Please,” Hermione softens her tone.

“Alright, it’s Harry but I don’t see -”

“For heaven’s sake,” Hermione jumps to her feet like an angry cat. “This is unbelievable.”

“What is?”

“Harry! Harry is,” she harrumphs, hands on her hips, stomping her feet as she rants along.

I can feel my heart sinking.

“You’re - hmm, how should I phrase it? The two of you are not, per any chance, together are you?”

This seems to stop Hermione’s rant and she simply stares at me, blinking.

“Dear god, no,” she laughs, reclaiming her spot next to me, “Harry and I have been best mates since we were both eleven.”

Oh.

After a beat, I state the obvious, “So this must be awkward.” 

“Nevermind awkward,” Hermione shakes it off, a newfound vigour about her, “Did you just say Harry pulled off having sex in the shower? _ And _ shots?”

“Say it louder, I reckon Professor McNeil didn’t quite hear you,” I shush her, anxiously looking around to see if anyone I know is listening. 

Which is funny because I don’t know anyone except my housemates and Harry and Hermione who, would you look at that, already know each other and have been best mates since they were eleven. Ha. Haha. 

“Sorry,” Hermione grabs my hand and looks at me. “I’m surprised, I guess. You see, Harry’s a dork.”

Pot, meet kettle.

I let out a dignified huff, “I’ll have you know that he was very…”

“Dorky?”

“No, sexy. Harry was very sexy indeed.”

“Eww.”

“Nevermind _ that _, what do I do now? We shook hands, didn’t you hear what I said? We shook hands after I licked his abs!”

“Erm - saucy.”

“What could be the next logical move?” 

I hope my tone conveys how desperate I am. Who died and left me in charge of my own life?

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermione rolls her eyes and I can feel the sass coming, “Maybe talking?”

Yup, here it is.

“Or a date - you two are so inept it’s a miracle you hooked up.”

I gasp.

“Did you just say...hooked up?”

Hermione shakes her head, a dash of pity in her deep brown eyes.

“You two are such children. I told him the exact same thing.”

My heart stops, oh no, oh no, _ oh no _.

“Wait, did he tell you about this?”

“Look, we were supposed to have coffee and study together Saturday morning. When he didn’t answer any of my calls -”

“Say no more,” I chuckle, “I would’ve done the same with my brother Ron.”

Hermione smiles, a bit sheepish.

“Sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Neither did we. It was an impromptu kind of rendezvous.”

She places a warm hand on my shoulder, smiles kindly. “You really should talk. He fancies you, you know.”

My heart inflates so fast it might burst any moment now. He fancies me. Harry fancies me. Ha!

“He’s been working himself into a terrible state all weekend.”

And just like that my heart deflates.

“What - why?”

“Well, Harry’s a wonderful bloke but when it comes to women, ah. Maybe it’d do you both some good to talk about how you felt that night.”

“Other than bloody incredible?” I snigger as Hermione grimaces.

“I can do without the details,” she winks and gets up, offers me a hand.

“I’ll text you his number, alright? I’ve a meeting with my thesis supervisor in ten but maybe we can go over the Rawls text together later?” Hermione grins as I have an inkling she does whenever there’s talk about books and studying.

“Alright. Thanks,” I wave as she waves back, nearly skipping her way towards the meeting.

_________

ginny: hi

ginny: hermione gave me your number

harry: not surprised she found you

harry: that woman’s a right bloodhound

ginny: actually we are in political philosophy together

harry: oh, alright

ginny: anyway 

harry: yes

ginny: i panicked

harry: ???

harry: i weirded you out didn’t i?

ginny: NO

ginny: i meant i panicked and shook your hand 

harry: ah, that

harry: i thought it was very sexy 

ginny: LOL thanks

ginny: anyway the dime’s dropped so here it is

ginny: i’m going to say it

harry: now i’m panicking

ginny: i think we should go on a date

harry: thank goodness i thought you were going to say i’m shite in bed 

ginny: well i dunno i’ve never seen your moves in bed

harry: i’d say just tell me when but i’ve already invited you over with the wrong idea

ginny: harry, stop. i would’ve had sex with you on the bar if we hadn’t gone to your place

harry: i’m a little flattered now can’t lie

ginny: i fancied you the moment you started staring at me

harry: you caught that huh

ginny: yeah you’re not too subtle

harry: my uncle sirius says the same

ginny: your uncle knows you. will you invite me on a date now?

harry: there’s a small italian place near campus

ginny: 20 mins?

harry: aye aye

harry: but maybe let’s not get drunk this time eh?

ginny: look who’s the adultier adult of the two

harry: mum would be proud

ginny: see you there momma’s boy

harry: should’ve seen that one coming

ginny: ;)

ginny: i live on banter and coffee what can i do

harry: i’m already there

ginny: huh?

ginny: you’re fast

ginny: k literally running now ttyl

I slide my phone inside my coat pocket as soon as I step through the door. No need for flirty texts, Harry’s already inside, looking like all of my dreams wrapped into one black haired real life fantasy in round specs and a timid smile.

  



	3. where i don’t want to jinx it, but i think i’m on the right track

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> myeah so this was supposed to be much longer but then i decided to break it again. and now they were five. let's see how many chapters this fic will sprout next time i update, hmm

“You look different in daylight and...non-naked attire,” I try on a grin that holds as he returns it in earnest, albeit blushing a bit beneath the (semi)confident look in his eyes.

Have I mentioned what pretty eyes he has? 

Perhaps only a million times but, trust me, it’s not enough. Also, you’re stuck with me so either you tune out or you’re here for all the gushing that’s about to happen. 

And now I’m talking to myself. Sweet lord have mercy and remove me from this life.

“You look, hm, nice too,” Harry coughs and I raise a brow. He never even gave me a chance to make myself presentable. All I could do was a quick mouth and face wash, I’m not an animal.

As the waiter approaches I’m ready to order two fresh waters, you know, to be on the safe side.

“Probably a good idea,” Harry chuckles and sips from the glass placed in front of him. I do the same.

“So,” I start, without any idea what I’m going to say. Let’s all pray it’s not something stupid.

“So,” Harry smiles.

“Should we snog or…?”

Yeah, it is pretty much something stupid.

Harry jolts, but I can’t really blame him.

Alright, quick save. Quick. Save.

“Well you weren’t nervous last night and it seemed like a reasonable first step.”

“Yeah, I was also getting to a pretty high blood alcohol level.”

“One too many tequilas, eh?”

“One too many,” he laughs. “Cheers to that.”

“Cheers. To that and…?”

“Being sober?”

“Anyone eavesdropping would think this is some Alcoholics Anonymous meeting or something of the sorts,” I giggle.

“Yes, well, I doubt their main purpose is to get drunk and hook up,” he joins in and it’s quite nice sharing a laugh together, the easiness in it, the lightness of it all. 

“Hermione confirmed we did in fact hook up,” I wink once we settle into a quiet calm again.

“Is that so?” Harry fixes me, his eyes on mine for a moment. “What else did my dear old mate say?” He leans forward and so do I, our hands nearly touching.

I lightly gnaw on my bottom lip, “She said…”

“Yes?” He breathes in.

“That you…”

“That I?”

“Couldn’t pull off a shower shag,” I avert my eyes, teeth sinking in further, tongue dashing over the lip.

“Aha,” Harry sighs but doesn’t budge, his nose closer to mine now. “I hope you defended my skill and vigour.”

My cheeks are burning but who cares, I’m going for this. I’d be a fool not to.

“Always there for my damsel in distress,” I wink.

Harry snorts, “I’ll take it if I can play the hero next time.”

Like a magnet, my eyes are drawn to his, this blazing, electrifying connection between us.

“Huh. Roleplay - not such a terrible idea,” is the last thing I say before my lips glide over his, his mouth covers mine and there’s nothing left except us, and this kiss that we’re sharing, and his hand squeezing mine in this small place at the beginning of September.

Unfortunately, Harry bumps the water in his haste and that’s pretty much the end of our heated little moment.

“In case somebody thought I needed some cooling down,” he grunts as he taps his lap with a serviette.

“If somebody did, then somebody’s an idiot,” I pout and lean back on my chair.

I give him a moment, figuring it’d be best for both of us if I didn’t help.

When he lifts his head, there’s a look of adorable frustration in his eyes that has me melting. 

Promise I’ve never reacted like this in my life. What’s wrong with me?

“Would you mind if - ?” Harry points towards the door with his thumb.

“No, of course not. Let me just,” I pause as I rummage through my pockets for enough to pay for the water. 

“I’ll get that,” Harry hurries to place his money on the table, nearly knocking down the second glass.

“Harry,” I smile, my hand over his on the table, both of us on our feet, “You’ve pretty much covered the water the other night, let me return the favour.”

It’s intended as a joke but bugger if we’re not blushing in the middle of a uni campus restaurant, both thinking about...things.

I swallow hard and remove my hand from his with as much dignity one can muster in a similar situation.

“At least let me walk you home,” Harry smiles sheepishly as we start moving, trying to mask the wet spot on his lap by pulling at his blazer.

“Not like I’m in any position to offer life advice, but I need to say this: whatever you do, own it.”

Like magic, Harry does relax, both of us falling into step beside each other, the tips of his fingers timidly searching for mine. 

Our hands find each other, palms warm and skin gently caressing skin as our fingers twine, smiles tugging at the corners of our lips. And it’s nice. It’s all very, very nice.

We talk about Hermione and how Harry met her as they started middle school, becoming thick as thieves after a rocky start. 

We talk about my brothers and how Percy’s so uptight, and Fred and George always make me laugh, and Ron helps Mum and Dad the most, being there for them now that the rest of us have moved out, searching for a life to make for ourselves.

Harry tells me about his uncle and how they took long rides on his motorcycle in the dead of night when Harry couldn’t sleep.

I tell him about how I always dreamt I could fly, yearning for freedom, for that absolute high.

And before either of us realizes, we’ve arrived, we’re at my door.

“I’d ask if you want to come in -” I start, fidgeting. I really, really would.

“Don’t worry, I’d rather my pants weren’t wet first time I visited,” Harry tries to wink and I snort, lean in to kiss him again.

It’s light and sweet and it’s got me buzzing, my heart beating somewhere out of its cage.

“In this series of firsts we’ve got going on, Ginny,” Harry draws in a breath and brushes a strand of hair from my face, fingers lingering on my cheek, “I’ve come to accept that I should brush up my repertoire. I never know what to say. And goodbye doesn’t really fit, does it?”

“How ‘bout _ until next time _?” I smile toothily, earnestly.

He studies my face for a beat, lips parting into a large, warm smile.

“Yeah. That would fit better. Until next time, Gin.”

“Until next time, Harry.”

It’s another type of drunkenness that I feel this night, mind light and heart singing as I climb the stairs to my room.

Naturally, the singing within turns into high pitched screaming when my phone buzzes with a new notification: Harry Potter has sent you a friend request. 

Accept. Accept. Accept!

Obviously resting is forgotten in the face of Facebook stalking. 

___

It’s good that I only have two classes the next day, because my head’s still up in the clouds and light years away from homework and academic papers.

Giving up (probably unreasonably fast, though) I check Facebook messenger and yes, there it is: Harry Potter is online.

ginny: you’re not studying are you

harry: ...no

ginny: i can’t either

ginny: and it’s all your fault

harry: wait did we meet again after we kissed goodnight??

ginny: sadly no

harry: it is nice to know blackout drunk isn’t becoming a habit 

ginny: ha. but you kissed me like no one’s ever kissed me before

harry: is this 1935?

ginny: yes and you’re about to go to war

ginny: now stop being such a prat and come here

harry: yes ma’am

I quickly check my breath and smooth down my hair before Harry arrives. On that note, is being cool with having bad breath for later stages of relationships or is it simply never acceptable?

Guess the world will never know.

Anyway, Harry’s here in less than thirty, his hair all messed up and a bit short of breath. Which has me both impressed and a little hot for him at the moment. Alright, a little more.

It’s precisely how we end up in my bedroom, snogging wildly. 

Hell, we didn’t even bother to pretend this is about studying. If one needs more evidence in this sense, one only needs spare a look at Harry’s book bag which remains highly untouched and very much forgotten at the foot of the bed.

Further down this lane, if one also needs more evidence to whether we would’ve ended up in his shower that night even without alcohol, one needs only observe how both of us appear to have become sans our upper wear in barely five minutes. 

I’m telling you, it’s magic.

Just as Harry’s busy unclasping my bra and I’m swearing like a sailor struggling with his belt, the door swings open and surprise! Of course I forgot I invited Hermione over to work on the bloody Rawls text.

Which I’d be up for on any other day, but hey, even my buddy John Rawls would understand that justice and morality don’t quite come close to a brilliant snog. Today, at least.

“Oh my god,” Hermione gasps, Harry strikes a deadly combination of grinning and blushing, and I swear.

Hermione slams the door shut.

“Was this planned or is she barging in to remind you of your homework now?” Harry drawls as he removes his warm, sweet palms from my person to clothe himself.

“I’d love to be able to say that it wasn’t, but unfortunately it is and I forgot,” I huff, rearrange my bra and search for my shirt.

Harry stops and looks at me, grin twisting his lips.

“Must be me, I tend to have this effect on beautiful women.”

“Oh, shove it,” I aim at his messy head with an unreasonably big pillow but miss. Sassy git.

There’s a knock at the door and then Hermione’s voice, “Are you two decent?”

“Do come in, it’s not like you haven’t witnessed enough already,” I roll my eyes and open the door.

To her credit, Hermione does put on a dignified look as she steps inside, whispers something to the sound of “Didn’t ask for it.” Yeah, well I didn’t ask to be interrupted either so I guess life’s not fair, is it, Hermione?

Luckily for my GPA, we have a good studying session from then on, buttered popcorn, tea and the occasional laugh. Even though I’d rather Harry and I cuddled for the rest of the year and then someone mailed me my diploma, I can’t say I’m not fond of this.

I’ve never been this person who kisses and holds hands, you see. I fancied myself this independent young woman and I truly, honestly believe that I am. But maybe - and perhaps I’m rushing, jumping to conclusions - but maybe I don’t have to be alone in this?

Maybe being independent and being in a relationship don’t necessarily clash as concepts. 

Maybe they can even complement each other when the right person’s involved.

Maybe I should stop pondering and get back to reading. Political Philosophy’s got this quirky effect on me, I...presume. 

See what I did there?

Probably not because the only audience who’s ever appreciated my jokes to their full potential has been me. And sometimes Bill, but I’m mature enough now to accept that he only laughed because he’s my big brother and he loves me.

Hours later and well after midnight, I wave Hermione goodbye and kiss Harry goodnight (_ Until next time) _, pop into the shower, put on fresh pajamas and hello dreamland.

Over the following days, the three of us settle into a pleasant routine of lunching together outside, sharing food, sharing thoughts. If I weren’t familiar with my luck, I’d say the year spent at UCL will turn out to be a positive experience.

But over the course of my youthful existence, I’ve come to understand that there is such a thing as jinxing it. So I reckon I’ll keep my big mouth shut and do something more useful with it: like eat. And kiss Harry. 

I’m predictable, I know and I don’t care.

____

As the week rolls into the weekend, Hermione and I decide we deserve some pampering so we organize a good old fashioned slumber party, painted nails and all. There’s music, fluffy pajamas, and all the masks and creams The Body Shop has to offer. 

We fall into an easy chatter, Hermione describing in great detail the time when Harry was selected as school champion for some sort of inter school competition and competed against the football star he admired, and then actually won; or when he sassed the pants off one of their gross sounding professors in highschool. To be fair, “There’s no need to call me _ sir _, Professor” is a bloody brilliant line that I’m definitely borrowing.

I talk to Hermione about my brothers and how Ron convinced Fred and George to take Dad’s ghastly old Ford Anglia in the middle of the night and drive from Devon to Surrey (no one had a permit, mind) to ‘rescue’ a classmate that wasn’t answering his post cards.

We all teased him that the classmate probably broke up with him but Ron wouldn’t have it. It turned out that the poor boy was neglected and old Ronniekins was right all the time. His stubbornness and probably insanity, because what twelve year old dreams of driving an actual car, saved that boy.

Perhaps I’ve struck a chord with Hermione because she’s subtly asking me to show her some pictures. 

We scroll for more than an hour through my Facebook, commenting and laughing more with every silly story that we swap. Soon enough, we switch from my profile to Hermione’s, then to Harry’s and finally to Ron’s. Apparently he posts a lot about his favourite football team, with the occasional invite to crowdfund for a social cause. 

Wow, I’ve never really regarded my brother as thoughtful. Of course I’ve always been aware that he’s secretly kind, but…I mean, he’s Ron.

The more you know, I guess.

“Would you like your family to meet Harry?” Hermione asks once the lights are out and we’ve both chosen a pillow and a side.

I take a moment to think about it.

“I reckon I’ll give him a chance to get accustomed to me first before I scare him off with the rest of the Weasleys.”

“Don’t worry, Harry’s a tough bloke.”

“Thought you said he was a dork.”

“Yeah, he is. A tough dork”

I think about how honest and true their friendship is and know, really and utterly know that I want this. I want to have something like this, a partnership that’s built for a lifetime. A partnership that’s equal, and healthy and built on mutual trust. 

I want that, I do. 

With this thought dangling at the corners of my mind and before my eyes fall shut, my brain stops to register something peculiar: Hermione, her nose close to the screen of her phone, white Facebook light and a freckly face with ginger hair reflected in her deep brown eyes.

Life is strange and rather interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> always happy to know what you think! :)


	4. where i come crashing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> light and breezy. oh, and tropey, let's not forget tropey

On October 3rd, I asked him what day it was. Because he just wouldn’t catch my drift and ask me so I could forever tell the world that I said that iconic line from Mean Girls, and therefore I figured if you want things done right…

Speaking of things done right, as the weeks pass calmly one after the other and October rolls into November, I feel it’s time we finally studied sans Hermione. And by studying of course I mean snogging.

“Hell yeah,” Harry grins when I whisper my invitation in his ear while Hermione’s too busy quarrelling with Madam Pince, the librarian, over closing hours on weekends (“It’s when students have the time and are rested enough to study well past midnight!”). “She’s my best mate but a bloke wants to do things without an audience from time to time,” he goes on to wink.

I catch the ball he’s throwing me here.

“What kind of things?”

The grin gets bigger. “Oh, you know, write an academic paper, take a hot shower,” Harry shrugs innocently.

Apparently the ball was never in my court.

Cheeky bastard. 

“You’ll be cracking those little jokes for the rest of our time together, won’t you?” I sigh.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Harry smirks and if we weren’t under Pince’s hawk-eyed scrutiny, this would be the moment I’d have snogged him senseless, tongue and all.

However, since we are and still need to access the library throughout the year if we want to ever graduate, we press pause on any mouth to mouth action until we reconvene at his place, eight o’clock that evening.

What follows after we say goodbye with a loud and loaded “Later” as we hop down the old marble stairs of the main building can only be described as _ mayhem. _Because not only do I run home fast enough to cough my lungs out half way through, but I find myself evacuating all innocent flatmates out of the bathroom and making sure they stay out for the next couple of hours no matter what, emergencies included. War casualties, I believe they’re called.

To be fair, I don’t recall my body being as shaved before, my pores as cleansed, my skin as soft. My hair smells amazing and my favourite woollen green sweater is freshly laundered. There’s no doubt all the stars are aligned for this to be a rather spectacular night.

There was never a doubt that we’re comfortable with each other and we could’ve simply opted to keep seeing each other naked after that drunken escapade. But it’s so much nicer getting back there again after we’ve learned each other’s minds, after taking our time to talk, to listen. 

It’s nice to go back to where we started. 

Oh, take me back to the start - Chris Martin of Coldplay once said. Wise man that Chris Martin, wise man.

I am mostly aware of scaring people off as I prance my way to Harry’s, smiling at people as they walk by but, honestly, I feel too bloody good to care. Good vibes only, baby.

Here I am, knock-knock, it’s me, your absurdly enthusiastic girlfriend who’s just rubbed her bodyweight in skincare cosmetics on her so she can look fantastic for you. 

I guess I’m that type of girl now, the one that makes an effort. And you better appreciate it hard because I give myself one year before making an effort will mean mostly adding lipstick and mascara if we’re going somewhere fancy-ish. 

“Wow, you’re punctual,” Harry observes as he opens the door to his house - and to a view.

“What’ve you got behind that?” I ask smartly as my eyes quickly travel south, registering the dripping hair, the bare chest, the white towel hanging to his hips. 

At least he has the decency to blush as he responds, “Guess.”

“And if I guess correctly?”

“There should be a prize.”

“There should be one, indeed. Who names the prize?”

“The winner.”

“This winner, does she take it all?”

“She does.”

“Then she’d better start guessing.”

“The judge is ready to rule.”

“Alright then,” I lick my lips, my heart beating fastly, deafeningly as I close the door behind me, drop my bag on the floor, “I guess there’s nothing underneath. Just you, like you were one night I can’t very much remember.”

“Go on now, name your prize,” he says, tries not to be shy as he holds my gaze.

I can feel my ears turn red and my cheeks burning as I say, “I want that one more time, but with memories.”

Harry takes my hand slowly, gently, his breath shaky as he speaks, “Let’s make them, then.”

Dimmed lights, our bodies between white linen sheets, my hair sprawled loose against big pillows, his eyes boring into mine, glasses forgotten at the foot of the bed. 

I shiver when his hands undress me, cover me, feel me. I shiver when his mouth touches my shoulder, follows a trail of freckles to my chest. I shiver when he kisses me.

Harry moans my name when I’m on top of him, I scream out his when he flips us over, strong arms gripping the headboard as my body coils around him, tight and rough until we’re no longer Harry and Ginny, him and I, but Us melted together, our souls molded together.

The sunrise finds us in a mess of limbs, drunk on each other, unapologetically happy. The light filters through the drapes, his eyes glistening like emeralds as he watches me, a tired smile dangling at the corner of his lips.

The morning light warms my cheek, sets my freckles ablaze. The love that I’m feeling burns inside me like a fire, rolling violently through my veins.

I’m alive.

“How do we go back to our past lives now?” I ask and I yawn, nuzzling further in the crook of his neck, stubble softly scraping against the skin of my forehead.

He takes a long moment before answering, thoughts shaping and reshaping in his mind, warm palms and rough skin caressing my arms, my back.

“What if we simply don’t? What if we keeping living this life, keep making new memories?”

Harry’s green eyes go from shy to surprised and finally close shut with mirth, with delight when I attack him with millions of little kisses, peppered out to his nose, eyebrows, eyelids, cheeks, brow, to that smart, wonderful mouth of his.

I am love and I am light. And with him, I am life itself. 

* * *

It’s a wonder to me how we came to the mutual agreement that we are to move in together slowly, cautiously as we test the waters, see if we can tolerate each other for a week, then a month and perhaps for a life. 

A life, I repeat to myself and laugh. I am the girl who desperately needed her space, who loathed having to share a bathroom with six brothers and their body hair. I am the girl who moved out of her hometown because she felt she’d be suffocating if she spent one more day there, knowing everyone and everyone knowing her.

What am I doing now, barely a month from then? Why, I’m preparing to move in with a bloke. 

Only that he’s no bloke; he’s Harry. Already _ my _ Harry.

I’m a lovesick mess.

And you know what else is a dire mess? My bank account. And my academic life post midterms, probably, but that’s a thought for another time; perhaps when the grades are published I’ll stop and wail for a moment or two but right now I feel there are more pressing issues at hand.

Actually, have I ever mentioned that I love uni life? It’s so full of surprises, you know? Of rhetoric questions. For instance, you go about your day wondering if frozen pizza is disgusting because it is or because you’ve had it seven nights in a row. Or the more fun question of when will my card be declined next? Or the best one: do they still offer free lobotomies these days because I certainly have no money to pay for one but then I still really need it because I’m going to live with my parents for the rest of my life. Or aim to become a trophy wife after my brain’s been removed. Who’s got money for tuition? Definitely not me.

If we’re still doing the rhetoric questions bit, do you know what’s even more fun and surprising? Not getting your period. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not particularly fond of periods. Absolutely not, they suck and I’m looking forward to the time I’ll be living without them. Dreaming of that new blessed and painless era, frankly.

However, assuming I haven’t slept for like sixty years, then something’s not quite right here.

There’s always the more plausible option that I’m unconsciously sabotaging myself because I probably hate me and am unable to allow myself to live through real happiness. 

But then what would I have to lose if I popped into the drug store and bought a test on my way home to grab a backpack full of essentials? No more than five minutes, I reckon.

Five minutes, a small price to pay for my sanity. 

* * *

ginny: i can’t come over tonight. or ever.

harry: you alright? what happened?

ginny: nothing, just can’t anymore

My heart aches as I reject call after call but I can’t, I won’t, I’m a bloody coward. 

I can’t even say it, can’t even think it. 

I’m frightened and shaking and hiding underneath my blanket, too afraid of the thought that’s beginning to take form and shape, this thought that’s crawling in the darkness of my room, rolling around and rattling as loud as reality. 

It’s telling me to open my eyes, it’s trying to part my eyelids and make me look at it. 

But I can’t, I won’t, I’m a bloody coward.

If I sit still long enough maybe it’ll disappear.

A lifetime later, there’s banging on the door. 

Maybe it’ll stop if I sit here, quiet and scared.

Maybe he’ll go away.

Oh, please, let him go away. Please let him not know, he doesn’t need to know. 

The world doesn’t need two frightened fools; one’s more than enough.

But of course he doesn’t leave and of course he presses on the handle, opens the door.

There’s screaming coursing through my head, piercing through my sanity, a cry as loud as reality.

He’ll see it soon, he’ll see it and it’ll be the end of us.

The end of us when we’ve only just begun. 

Never another _ until next time _. Never another time…

Silence, absolute silence in my room.

As loud as reality.

“Ginny,” Harry breaks the suffocating quiet. 

I’m a bloody coward and I can’t bare to face him but I know, I can feel that he’s standing near, watching me hide. I cannot deal with life.

“Are you…? I mean - is that…?”

Say it, just say it. Say it because I absolutely cannot and I need you to say it or else I’ll scream and cry and oh god -

“Are you pregnant?”

The question comes in a very hushed tone, even as though he’d braced himself for it, stilled himself and willed himself to speak the words.

I need to answer him quick, fast, before the silence comes crushing me again.

Quick, like a band aid. 

Quick, loud and clear.

As loud as reality, you coward.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's short, in a slightly different style, and has nothing to do with christmas. but still here it is, a new chapter out of who knows how many of what used to be a three chaptered college AU with an unexpected surprise and a happy end :)


	5. where there's a light at the end of the tunnel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couldn't leave you hanging now could i?

There’s complete silence in my room, my mind, my heart before I hear footsteps; two feet dragging the weight of those three letters, Y-E-S, to the freedom waiting on the other side of the door.

I’ll miss you, Harry.

Oh, what have we done?

But strangely I hear the soles of the feet crawl closer, weigh down my bed as the mattress screeches. I don’t know what’s happening, I’m too afraid to look; if he leaves me, I don’t want to see it happening, I don’t want the image burnt on my brain forever, the door closing behind him again and again for the rest of my life.

A deep breath.

“There’s probably no right way to ask this but…,” Harry speaks, his voice shushed and small, and my heart nearly beats out of my chest. “Is it...is it because of - ah, us?”

Affirmative: there is no right way to ask this without sending one into a spiral of tears and despair.

“Yes,” I cry, weak. 

Silence, followed by more silence.

“Can I crawl in?” Harry breaks the wall of complete quiet and I nod, blanket tightly wrapped around my head, my body, my terrifying thoughts. 

“I’ll take it as a yes. Kick me or something if I got it wrong and you want to be by yourself. After all, I’ve been known to misunderstand things.”

He sounds defeated as he speaks and there’s such an intense pang of sadness in my heart to hear him so angry with himself. It makes me want to be strong enough for both of us.

“Harry, this isn’t your fault,” I say as I feel his arms sneak around me, hold me tight to his chest.

He quietly laughs and I can feel the self-loathing flowing through it. 

“I mean it. There were two of us that night.”

“Yeah, but only one of us should have been careful to use protection,” he bites back, the same self-deprecating tone in his voice and it makes me so much angrier. 

Even though I can’t make out his features through the pitch black darkness, I turn around in his arms to face him when I tell him that,

“That’s such a load of crap.”

“Wh - what?” He sounds off guard. Perfect.

“I said that what you’re saying is a load of crap. I was perfectly happy to have sex with you in your shower and, quite frankly and please hold your surprise and self-blame, I would’ve done it outside your house or on a park bench for all I cared right then.”

“But I should’ve -”

“Oh, Harry, shush,” I say and grip his sweater tightly in my fists, “we both should’ve done a great many things but we can’t turn back time, can we?”

“Would you? Turn back time, I mean?” Harry asks in a shudder and I want to laugh and cry at the same time and love him until there’s not an ounce of self doubt left in his beautiful mind.

“I wouldn’t,” I press on the words as hard as I can so he’ll believe me. I honestly wouldn’t, I think I love him.

“Gin,” he lets out a long suffering sigh, cups my jaw in his palms and places his forehead to mine, the rims of his glasses cold against my own cheeks. “I’m so sorry, I swear that I’m sorry.”

I kiss him long enough to silence him, bite his lip when he tries to talk again.

It’s now or never. I’ve got nothing else to lose.

“Might be the worst possible time for more news, but I think I love you,” I tell him between kisses as casually as “good morning” or “until next time.” If he decides to run, he’d better have all the information.

But instead of running, Harry holds me tighter and kisses me harder and I don’t know if he’s crying or I’m crying because our cheeks are wet with tears, our eyes closed, our mouths kissing and biting like there’s nothing waiting for us at the end of this.

“I love you too, so much that I’m afraid to let you go,” Harry whispers as he rubs his nose over my temple, leaves a trail of kisses there.

So it seems there’s everything waiting for us at the end of this. It’s life and love and so much more.

Later - and just before I fall asleep, Harry kisses the top of my head and slowly laughs, “So much for taking it slow.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much not going to happen now,” I yawn and allow myself to drift far away.

* * *

I wake up past the witching hour and Harry’s still holding me, stroking my hair. His face seems calm, a million years from the torment that laid in his eyes hours ago. 

I smile.

“Do you ever sleep?”

He’s startled at first, not expecting me to be awake perhaps. It takes a beat for his features to relax again and there’s a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Nah, I’d much rather be creepy and watch you sleep.”

“You’d better warn me if you’re a vampire because Stephanie Meyer described giving birth to half-vampire babies as a really gory endeavour,” I wink, try to make light of the situation. There’s nothing good humour won’t get you through, Fred and George always said.

Harry’s gaze freezes, his hands stop tangled in my hair, his skin paling for the briefest of moments. Oh no.

“You’ve decided, then?” Harry asks, his tone as flat as humanly possible.

I switch into a sitting position, turn on the night lamp; I need to be able to see how he feels about this, be absolutely certain he’s on board. I’m not dragging anybody into anything if they don’t want to. I’m not signing up for a lifetime of resentment and pent up frustration.

“Yeah,” I reply, albeit a bit more aggressive than I’ve intended. “I mean, I think so. It’s mostly a gut feeling,” I amend.

I can’t much read his face, it’s a wall of gravity mixed with hints of disbelief. Harry simply looks at me, twists his hands on his lap.

I feel the need to talk again when the silence stretches out so long it makes me jittery. 

“Look, you don’t have to do this with me if you don’t want to -”

“Don’t be daft,” Harry’s words are clipped, frowning behind round eyeglasses.

Daft?! I’ll show him daft! Who does he think he is calling me that? I’ve once broken a boy’s pinky for insulting me. Humph.

“Excuse me?”

“We’re doing this together.”

He’s got the kind of voice that doesn’t allow much else to be added. But I’m a woman who’s just found out she’s pregnant after her first ever one night stand so…

“Don’t go all chivalrous on me. I said you don’t have to just because you think it’s the right thing to do -”

“I’m not,” he nearly grunts and it must’ve been obvious that I’m startled because he immediately relaxes his face and reaches out to take my hand. 

“Sorry,” Harry continues, fingers rubbing over my knuckles. “Look, Ginny,” his eyes bore into mine and I lightly squeeze his hand, “My parents died when I was one; naturally, I feel that all children should grow up in a real family. But that’s not why I’m doing this.”

Harry holds up his hand when he notices my mouth opening to intervene. I quickly close it back.

“I’m doing it because of what I feel for you - it’s strong, confusing at times, so intense that it makes my head spin. I asked you to move in with me this morning because nowadays I feel like a part of me is missing when you’re not with me. I love you.”

The way his green eyes look at me - ah, I feel a wee bit lightheaded, a bit more starstruck, and completely in love.

“That was super cheesy,” I say but it comes out as a sob. Tears are prickling at the back of my eyelids.

“Oh, yeah? Then why are you tearing up?” Harry grins, squeezing my hands gently.

“I’m not! Must be the late hour, it’s addled your brains,” I sob harder and throw myself in his arms.

He cradles me, I ugly cry, he kisses me, I kiss him back, we say iloveyou over and over again. 

It’s funny how it feels so difficult to tell someone you love them the first time, but it becomes so easy, so delightful to say it afterwards? Declare your love a million times a day? Simple. Shout your love from the rooftops? Just say when. Have a baby together? Apparently the answer’s yes.

Thus 3 AM finds us carrying boxes across campus, much to my flatmates and neighbours’ combined dismay (and I’m only too happy to wave goodbye to dear old and flabbergasted Caroline. Adieu, you little - eh, Juan was mostly alright on the other hand).

I’ve genuinely no idea how our little baby plan will play out or how our relationship will evolve. For now, I’m content with having a side of the bed, warm milk brought to me to help me fall asleep and someone to share my time with. 

On to the next day - and to the last two hours of sleep before classes start, Hermione finds out (as she’s bound to with that bloodhound nose of hers) and we plan how to safely welcome this baby into the world.

It can’t be too hard, right? Right?


	6. where there are no peaceful sundays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some of you (read: literally no one) said they'd rather read a short chapter than no chapter. go on now, enjoy!

“Gin,” Harry calls from the hallway. I’m not even ten weeks into the pregnancy and I already feel like a sad whale and, therefore, choose to remain blissfully nestled in the comfort of _ our _ bed (see what I did here?).

“Ginny, I think one of your brother’s come to visit,” he calls again, more insistent.

The slight panic in Harry’s voice put together with the definite nausea caused by my getting out of bed at the speed of light make up the worst possible combination for what I hoped would be a delightfully peaceful Sunday morning. One that I really, absolutely need before my first ever appointment to the doctor’s office for the little bun we have in the oven or whatever tooth-rotting pet name people who’re actually ready to have a baby call it. Bleah.

“How d'you know it’s one of my brothers?” I test. Maybe it’s just the mailman, right? I mean, it’s possible. Maybe London is wild enough to have mail delivered on Sundays.

Harry’s rumpled head pops through the door, a crease between his beautiful green eyes.

“Lanky, red hair, lots of freckles?”

“Oh, for crying out loud! That’s Ron.”

I huff and puff, swear and visibly sweat, shove my feet into my slippers and stomp my way to the door. There’s always something getting caught up in my business and it’s usually Ron’s long, pointy nose.

I turn the key in the lock and take a deep breath before I open, a pajama-clad Harry right beside me, fidgeting.

Eyes like slits and fists tight, Ronald Weasley, also known as brother number six, pounds his muddy boots on my freshly mopped floor. Super rude.

“I demand to know what’s going on!”

“Ohohohohoho,” a vicious laugh escapes my mouth, “You _ demand _, eh?” I’m suddenly on guard like a furious cat.

It’s amazing how easily relatives can push your buttons and lure the angry child within you out to take control within seconds of their arrival.

“Yeah, that’s right, I’ve caught my baby sister in bed with - with some bloke and I demand you tell me why you’re shacking up with god knows who! Yeah, Mum told me you’ve given up on your rent,” Ron finishes with a disgustingly proud look on his face, crosses his arms, and snarls like a rabid dog. Yuck.

“You do realise that I’m right here?” Harry blinks, probably still processing what he’s just heard. Sorry to break it to you, buddy, but if you’re gonna be part of this family of lunatics, you’ll have to cotton on much faster.

“Oi, no one’s asked you anything. I’m here to talk to _ my _ sister.”

“Yeah, in _ my _ house.”

“Couldn’t care if we were in the Lord’s house, yeah. Now bugger off, this is family business!”

The two of them are in each other’s faces now, index fingers ramming into chests and probably fire coming out both sets of nostrils.

That escalated quickly, eh?

“Woah, hold up you two,” I shove my fragile whale body between them. “Ron, what the fuck? Are you bloody mad or something? And take off those boots, you’re dripping mud all over the floor,” I scowl and immediately feel like a younger version of Mum. Gosh, gene pools are scary.

Ron backs away three steps and, to his credit, looks a bit embarrassed. Then he takes off his boots, scratches the back of his head and slowly extends a hand towards Harry.

“Ron Weasley, Ginny’s brother.”

Harry reluctantly takes it and scoffs, “Some bloke.”

I fight the urge to laugh and settle for a healthy rolling of the eyes.

“Ron, this is Harry Potter. Father of my child.”

“Real subtle, Gin,” Harry coughs and I can see him go white in the face.

But not as white as Ron, though.

He bends over a bit like he’s been kicked. Or has surprise explosive diarrhea, can’t really decide. 

“Bloody what of the what?”

Oh God. Here we go again.

“Now don’t get too worked up. Why don’t you take a seat, eh?”

“I feel faint,” He moans, hand over heart as he stumbles back into the hallway, right into a puddle of mud with his white socks. Ugh. What a mess.

“Are you my brother in law then?” He croaks, blue eyes wide as they pin onto Harry - who looks as though he can’t decide whether to run away forever or punch Ron in the face. Eh, can’t blame him. I’ve been having the same dilemma my entire life.

Anyway, time to intervene or we’ll be here till Christmas.

“What? Ron!”

“You’re not telling me this prick got you pregnant and won’t marry you!”

“For fuck’s sake, nobody got anyone pregnant. Hadn’t Mum told you that you need two people to make a baby? Or was I the only one invited to the talk and cringed myself to near death?”

“Shove the anatomy lesson. You’re coming home with me right now and I won’t hear another word.”

“Ron, I _ am _ home,” I growl as I feel my face catch fire and a burning desire in my chest to throttle this brother of mine. I swear, it’s so intense the tips of my fingers are prickling.

His face contorts into innocence and surprise, as if the very thought of me actually living here of my own accord never before hit his precious mind.

“You are?”

“Yes,” I sigh in honest exasperation. “This is where I live now. With Harry,” I gesture towards Harry who waves a bit at Ron. 

Ron continues to blink and repeat after me, “With Harry…”

“And we’re going to have a baby.”

“A baby…”

“Probably sometime round June, but I’ll find out more tomorrow, at my first appointment to the doctor.”

“In June!”

I look at Harry and he looks back at me shrugging. To be fair, I am a little worried now.

I clear my throat. “Ron, sweet, dear brother, are you by any chance experiencing an embolism as we speak?”

There’s no answer for a full painful minute and I sincerely consider calling 999. If this is the way my family reacts to the news then this baby will have zero relatives left to spoil him. Or her. 

An unearthly squeak and immediately my lungs are squeezed out of air in a vicious sort of vice grip between my brother and Harry, Ron’s tears rolling down the sides of my face as he quips that he’s going to be an uncle. 

Is he happy? Or is this just another phase of dementia? 

When we’ve all finally calmed down and tea and biscuits have been served, Harry and Ron bonding over their freakishly similar humour at the speed of light, I find it safe to relax and nestle between the minty green couch cushions and Harry. And probably ponder on the level of madness running through my family and how the hell is this baby not going to inherit all of it.

Knock-knock at the door.

Oh, bugger. I completely forgot we were supposed to have tea with Hermione (wow, the actual thought made me feel fifty years older, with a pair of needles in my hands and twenty cats purring at my feet. Jolly good!).

“Erm, Gin,” Harry turns to look at me, alarmed. “‘S there any chance more of your brothers are dropping by today?”

I muffle a giggle and kiss his shoulder, silently sauntering to the door and very much aware that his level of panic is only shooting up now.

“Hermione, welcome!” I greet her, albeit a tad too loud. Figure torturing him from the very beginning doesn’t really put a healthy spin on the ridiculous start we’ve already had in our relationship.

“Mind the muddy puddle,” I grin and take her coat, gesture her to the living room as she mumbles a thanks and pads away, confused.

“Hermione, this is Ron, my brother,” I grin even wider as I gently nudge her right next to him, suddenly remembering a certain bushy-haired person staring a few seconds too long at dear my brother’s Facebook profile.

“Hello,” she smiles sweetly and extends her hand, scooting a bit to face him. 

Uh-oh, Ron’s eyes are going blank again. Prepare for imminent danger.

“I’m Ron, an uncle,” is what he finally says. Oh dear.

Somebody kill me.

It’s Hermione’s turn to blink as her hand falls right back to her side. “Nice to meet you,” she barely whispers, alarmed.

“Harry, why don’t you go get Hermione a cup of tea while I brief her on the latest?” I smile at Harry, usher him away, and take a seat next to Hermione, take her hand and run smooth circles on its back.

Harry nods and disappears into the kitchen with a sigh of relief. It’s probably only dawning on him how complicated this baby business is about to become, poor love.

Fortunately for everybody’s mental health, the rest of the day flows with less drama than I would’ve thought, Hermione accepting the newest developments - so to say - in less than five minutes, bless that great big brain of hers. Ron, on the other hand, remains a little glazed over, a bit too quiet for his usual self and I honestly don’t know if it’s the news or Hermione’s deep chocolate eyes.

“Ron,” I grab him by the elbow as he’s about to leave, “Please don’t tell Mum just yet. I want to be absolutely positive we’re all healthy before we tell other people, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he smiles kindly and, to my surprise, leans down to kiss me on the cheek. “Take care. And Harry,” he turns round to face him, “pleasure meeting you.”

“Oh,” Harry grins, surprised, “Likewise.”

The boys shake hands as I hug Hermione goodbye and she squeezes my hand tightly, grinning toothily. 

“Congratulations, Ginny,” she whispers.

“Thanks,” I smile, squeezing her hand back. “Oh, and Hermione?”

“Hmm?”

“You two really need to hook up,” I chuckle into her ear, subtly pointing towards Ron, all mischief and amusement in my voice.

“Oh, you,” she gently elbows my side and hops out the door, furiously arranging her hair to hide the blush creeping on her cheeks.

Harry takes my hand and walks me to the doorframe, waves goodbye at the pair of them.

“Oi, Ron!” I shout after them feeling like a right little imp. “Be a dear and walk Hermione home, won’t you? It’s wild round here on Sundays.”

“Stop it, naughty,” Harry grins and kisses the crown of my head before he grabs the handle and pulls the door close.

“Hah, Ron’s face was so red you couldn’t tell hair from forehead,” I laugh, lacing my arms around him, resting my temple on his chest, ear over his beating heart.

There’s a newfound excitement growing inside me, like a fire kindling until it glows with millions of violent flames and I love it. I love the feeling of it so much I could scream it to the world. I love it!

I look up into Harry’s face, his eyes glinting from behind round glasses, and I wink.

“I’ll show you naughty.”


	7. where we're mad, but we love

Everything at the doctor goes swimmingly. Baby’s healthy, I’m healthy, every medical person and their grandma has congratulated us for deciding to procreate before my reproductive system goes stale or something.

I wanted to tell them that, hey, this baby made the decision for us (or the alcohol) but that didn’t really sound responsible, did it? So we smiled and waved and registered for a new visit in December. Seems like then they’ll be able to tell us if it’ll be a boy or a girl. 

Now to be completely honest, what I truly wanted to ask is if they’ll also be able to tell us the colour of this baby’s eyes because that’s really important but Harry said don’t. Boo. 

I wasn’t expecting him to be able to appreciate how gorgeous those emerald green eyes are anyway. He’ll come to his senses once this little bean is born and melts both our hearts.

Onwards to the next big challenge now: midterms. Super glad I’m not one of those ladies that vomits her guts out on the daily because that would’ve complicated my grad-student-hoping-to-graduate-this-year situation to no end.

Bloody buggering hell - this is my only and Harry’s final year in our respective Master’s programmes. Which means we have theses to write. Which also means I’m completely screwed because I haven’t thought of a topic yet.

Or a coordinator.

Help me, I haven’t written one word and I bet Hermione’s nearly done with hers.

Alright, Ginny, breathe. Yeah, keep breathing, you’ll think of something. 

Ugh, I’ve been so caught up in, well, Harry ever since my arrival that November’s hit me smack over the head. I shouldn’t be in charge of my life.

Alright, alright, first I’ve got to get through midterms, then visit family and deliver news - that’s around the first week of December, then identify a willing academic coordinator and commence thesis writing before any festive activity can take control of my mind and possess my soul.

Good, sounds like a plan.

“Harry,” I call as soon as I hear a set of heavy boots thud on the floor as he’s probably shoved them in the hallway like he usually does, “Were you aware that we have a thesis each to submit in a couple of months?”

I hear him stop for a moment in the middle of the living room then continue his way to our bedroom, where I’m currently sat under a wobbly knitted blanket, casually hating myself.

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean ‘yeah’”? I ask, visibly irritated.

“Said something wrong, didn’t I?” He chuckles and lightly rolls me over to crawl next to me. “The reason I joined UCL was so that I could write my thesis with Professor Moody on serial killers and their pattern of behaviour.”

Huh, odd: he’s even fitter when he talks smart. 

“Yes, well that’s very responsible of you,” I pout. “I, on the other hand, joined because I felt like screaming in the wild village of Ottery St Catchpole.”

Harry grins and kisses my forehead, the tips of his fingers lingering on my hips.

“That crazy, huh?”

“Completely bonkers.”

“Should I be afraid to meet its lovely inhabitants?”

“If you mean my family, eh, just don’t tell them how we met.”

“Why, Ginevra,” Harry feigns complete surprise, those wondering fingertips pressing and tickling my skin, “What is so shameful about making your acquaintance whilst enjoying a tame book club seminar, pray tell?”

I bark out a laugh, push him flush on his back, straddle him. Take my top off.

“Oh, yeah? And which one of these two books did you read first, then?”

His eyes immediately light up, his lips press against one another before he groans enticingly.

“I distinctly remember it was this particular one.”

His hands travel to my right breast, his mouth covers the nipple and I moan deeply.

I’ll probably bring up midterms later, when there’s no unbearable friction, no sudden fire as he grinds beneath me.

* * *

The second half of November passes in a dazey haze of studying, desperate cramming, white nights and sitting exam after tiring exam. I honestly don’t reckon we could’ve come out alive on the other side without Hermione - who, by the way, is a sweet delicate angel.

The woman made personalised study schedules for each of us and made us swear we’ll abide by them. Harry said she’s been doing it ever since they first met, this crafting of schedules for other people, and that he's always found it supremely annoying. I told him he’s a whiny git.

Finally December arrives and with it a timid bout of snow. It cracks under the soles of our boots as we board the first train of the day, the crisp morning air blowing my hair all over as Harry grabs my hand and heaves me inside.

We find seats next to each other in one of the middle compartments, take off our woolly hats and socks, and snuggle close as the train lightly shakes from left to right.

“Nervous?”

“Fairly,” Harry flashes a half-smile and leans down to kiss the freckles splayed over the tip of my nose.

“As long as you don’t expect them to be normal,” I shrug and tug a bit on my oversized sweater, palm unconsciously traveling to rest on the small bump that’s started to show. 

I get a little lost somewhere over the snowy hills outside, my mind wondering far, images of what might be rolling with the scenery as the train speeds further and we sway to its gentle rhythm. Harry looks at me warmly and I smile, kiss the back of his hand as it reaches to rest atop my own, both hands lovingly over the new life we’ve created from the depths of oblivion.

The rest of the trip is drowned between the pages of my book and Harry’s warm, tender palm running light, unwearied circles over my stomach.

Dad picks us up from the station, greets us genially, his smile as kind as ever and his horn-rimmed glasses fogged by the frosty air outside - same as Harry’s. I’ve missed him dearly.

We chat easily in the old Ford Anglia he’s never going to let go of, Harry’s responses polite with just a pinch of his usual sass sprinkled on the surface. Dad chuckles lightly when he finally relents and lets sarcastic Harry bubble over the top just enough before the battered wheels trundle on the gravel. We’re home.

“Ginny, love,” Mum pulls me into one of her trademark hugs as soon as we’re through the door. One can never walk into the Weasley family home and not be lovingly crushed to Molly Weasley’s chest.

“And this must be Harry,” Mum continues her appraisal of the situation at hand.

“Hullo,” Harry extends his hand good-naturedly but she simply shakes her head as if to say ‘nonsense’ and pulls him into a greater hug. Harry comes out of it blushing slightly, the pink smudges colouring his cheeks blending handsomely with his stubble, his eyes searching for mine as I lace my fingers with his.

“Come, dears,” Mum gestures excitedly. “Everyone’s already here.”

I see Harry’s dark eyebrows shoot up with curiosity and my grin stretches wider. It’ll be a right shock for him, it will.

“Harry, mate,” Ron booms, making a bee line for Harry as we reach a living room filled to the brim with redheads: my brothers, all of them, with Dad smiling softly; and among them all contrasting dazzlingly, Fleur, my brother Bill’s wife, elegantly nestled in the wobbly armchair by the hearth, their youngest daughter Dominique held to her chest as Victoire, their eldest, laughs giddily perched on her father’s knees. 

“Oi, you lot, this is Harry,” Ron waves eagerly, pushing Harry forwards to the middle of the room.

“Aw, Ronnie, you didn’t tell us you have a boyfriend,” Fred grins as he raises from the couch, walks towards Harry and shakes his hand.

“Yeah, little bro,” George quips - always together, complementing each other, the pair of them. “And here we all were believing it was our only sister Ginny bringing home a bloke.”

“Don’t mock you two. Ron’s taken a liking to Harry after he nearly knocked our door down,” I wink and guide Harry towards the recently vacated couch. “By the way, Ron,” I suddenly remember, “How exactly did know which door to barge through?”

“It’s called the power of asking.”

He’s highly proud of himself, the git, grinning smug, nose in the air.

“Don’t be smart, it doesn’t suit you.”

“If you insist on knowing -”

“I absolutely do.”

“I went to your former apartment and your French friend gave me your new address. Yeah, that’s right, she said you left it in case there was any mail arriving for you.”

“Precisely: mail, not nosy brothers.”

“Watch it, Harry, mate. This one’s an independent woman,” George trembles in mock fear.

“She’ll be demanding her rights before you know it,” Fred snickers.

Mum crosses her arms over her bosom and frowns, a picture we’re all well accustomed to since early childhood. It means behave _or else_.

“Fred, George, we’re in polite company.”

Naturally, Fred and George commence a thorough search of said ‘polite company’, sweeping under mantle pieces, rugs, furniture as Harry masks his chuckle and Victoire squeaks wholeheartedly when Bill plays along and lifts her high up in the air.

It’s very nice, Harry engaged in conversation with Bill and Charlie as they ask questions about his Criminal Law programme, and Percy’s only half as boring as he normally is, and Fred and George are full of life and mischief as Mum pretends to frown and then laughs, Dad squeezing her tireless hands every now and then.

Chairs creak over the wooden floor as we all take our place at the table, lunch steamy and delicious on the yellow plates and platters I’ve always adored. 

Everybody concentrates on garnishing their plates with a bit of everything and we plow on right ahead. It’s wonderful!

“So, Harry, how did you two meet?” Bill asks between two bites of roast and a spoonful of mashed potatoes for his little Vic.

Harry nearly chokes on his food.

“Erm, Bible study.” 

A loud snort echoes from the other side of the table and I brace myself.

“They shagged,” George nods matter of factly.

“Yup,” Fred agrees, smug, cramming yet more roast inside his mouth.

“Mind your language,” Mum barks, pointing her fork menacingly at the twins.

Vic takes the spoon from her father’s hand and bangs it on the table in a childish frenzy.

“Daddy, what does ‘shaggy’ mean?” 

I catch a glimpse of Ron struggling hard to keep quiet as my foot finds Harry’s shin under the table and he squeezes his eyes shut, words that would send Mum into a right state on his lips.

“What are you doing? Those people raised me, you can’t go about saying ‘Bible study’!”

“I’m sorry?”

Time to take matters into my own hands.

“Oi!” I push my chair back loudly, hands planted firmly on the edge of the table. “Harry and I have an announcement to make.”

A heavy silence falls over the room and Harry’s eyes widen in genuine terror, his head shaking frantically in a silent plea not to do it but honestly it’s now or never. No oversized sweater will hide me forever and it’s better to do it now that they’ve been fed and watered and, thus, less likely to cause too much drama.

“I’m pregnant. A baby will be here round June.”

I look around giddly, curiously, hungry for their reactions. I didn’t know how much I needed to be absolutely, positively sure they’re all happy for me, for us before, but now I do, I do!

And they are, oh, gosh, they are! It takes a moment for the information to sink in and I see Ron visibly relaxing, like the secret he’s been keeping for us over the past weeks had been weighing him down; but then it’s deafening as they cheer and shake Harry’s hand and kiss my cheeks and then all at once they congratulate us with love and warmth and I tear up, ah, I’m overwhelmed.

It’s precious, golden moments like this that I remember I’ll never feel unwelcome in this family. I love them all, every mad one of them. I love them!

Later, as Harry offers to help Dad work on an old motorcycle he’s found in Exeter and Mum takes me aside when I suggest we have tea and worriedly asks if I can promise her I’ll finish my Master’s (of course I will, silly!), I feel like something falls right into place. 

It’s a comforting thought that I hold on to as the train rolls into the station and Dad kisses me and hugs Harry, a bag of food packed for us dwindling on his wrist. It’s a beautiful, uplifting thought and I share it with Harry in utter excitement, utter glee the second we’re alone again.

“Our baby will be so loved.”

Harry kisses me right as the train grinds into motion, throwing me into his arms and we laugh like little children, holding onto each other and kissing hungrily on our way back to London. Oh, we're probably all mad, but we love, we love!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how bout i treat you all with a bit of smut next chapter, eh?


	8. where it’s never easy till there’s two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thread cautiously: there be smut in here

Harry’s a bit preoccupied on the ride home, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere far in the horizon, his answers a second late, like he’s not processed my words completely. 

He’s been a little funny since Dad brought up the old motorcycle; a light turned on and off fleetingly inside his eyes, I’m certain I couldn’t have imagined it. I wonder…

But then the train brakes into King’s Cross station, we’re pushed inside the underground and there’s not much to do than grimace and think happy thoughts until we’re home and far away from jarring commotion and crushing throng of people.

Harry nearly pummels an angry, slimy-haired middle-aged man who unceremoniously elbows me in the side when he hops on the train (“Bloody bastard, my girlfriend's pregnant!”). Fortunately, it ends with some well chosen curses on Harry’s side and a set of snide remarks from the gormless git (“When did you get her knocked up? Ten minutes ago?” but I chose to take it as a compliment to my own fit physique).

I take my boots off and force myself into a hot shower despite the prickling sensation at the back of my eyes, the sagging of my shoulders; I refuse to sleep smelling like the British Railways. 

The water is soothing and I gingerly spread the cinnamon scented lather all over, massaging it into the muscles, covering every bit of skin. Ridiculous as it is, I smile at my belly, compare the bump from different angles and then giggle at how silly it all is.

It’s amazing how parents become embarrassing to their children even before they actually bring them into the world.

Harry’s home with food and supplies by the time I’m out of the shower, padding around the kitchen, cupboard doors and drawers pulled and slammed all over.

A man’s voice, low as a growl, echoes from the kitchen and I freeze, water dripping in rivulets down my legs, puddling haphazardly onto the floor.

“Ah, if it isn’t my overprotected godson.”

Harry’s quiet for a moment before he sighs deeply, remorsefully even. “Sirius, I’m sorry. Clearly I’ve overreacted.”

I swallow hard and walk slowly to the hallway connecting the living room to the kitchen, one damp step after the other as I hold my breath. I’ve had no idea that Harry and his uncle...

There’s a sudden silence dancing around the house as I peek inside, see Harry hunched over the table, phone between his arms, glasses slipping from his nose as his chin lightly trembles and his jaw clenches.

“Well,” Sirius appears to sniffle on the other end of the line, “Obviously you are your drama-loving father’s son.”

Harry grips the edge of the table, shuddering before he speaks. “We’re alright, then?”

“Naturally. And you’re coming for dinner tomorrow, no excuse.”

Although his voice remains haughty, arrogant even, I’m almost certain there’s some poorly concealed kindness behind it, relief and a great big goofy grin.

“Sirius, I -”

“I said no excuse.”

“I wasn’t excusing myself. Would you listen?” Harry snaps, grasps the phone tightly in his hand and swipes across the screen. He slowly places it against his ear, listens and then, unexpectedly, he smiles radiantly, his voice suddenly warm and gentle. “Set three plates, will you?”

I’m aware of the tears splashing madly down my cheeks when Harry hangs up and nearly faints when he turns round to see me standing in the doorway. 

“Give a bloke a heads-up first, Gin,” Harry pants, hand like a claw clutching at his heart. 

“Such a baby,” I sob and kneel in front of him, take his hands in mine, kiss both of them - his knuckles, his fingers, his palms, everything. “I love you so much. So much,” I whisper as I press my lips onto the center of his palm, linger there.

“Come to bed?”

We prepare in silence, dancing round each other as we brush our teeth, change into our pajamas, exhausted after a beautiful yet challenging day. It’s a loaded kind of silence and it breaks my heart to see him so miserable and distraught.

“Harry?” I try as he swings to the side to place his glasses on the nightstand. “Harry, what’s happened? I’ve never seen you so glum,” I go on, my hand searching for his.

He doesn’t even look at me when he says, “You haven’t known me long enough, then.”

I pull my hand away immediately, like it’s been badly burned.

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean it,” Harry hurries to add, the bridges of his palms pressed hard against his eyelids. “I’m being a prat.”

“You bloody well are. Fancy sharing what exactly is prompting this?” I gesture vaguely, the sting of his words still prickling.

Harry sighs, green eyes glued to the ceiling, lips pulled into a thin line, like he’s fighting a storm of troubling thoughts, alone and terrified to let another person in.

“He wanted me to stay with him,” he stops abruptly. “He wanted me to stay with him while I studied at UCL and I didn’t so we had a falling out.”

I don’t ask anything or say anything; I simply wait, give him enough space to reach inside his mind, grasp his dire thoughts and lay them out before the both of us.

“He’s raised me after my parents passed away, for twenty-three years he did. He’s been like a second father to me, doing what he could so that I could be sheltered and happy and I really was. For most of my life, that’s what I felt like: sheltered and happy.”

There’s another pause as Harry fills his lungs with air, exhales sharply.

“But I wanted to give him back his life, I didn’t want to be his burden anymore, something he’d been left with after his best friends died. I wanted to leave…”

My heart sinks further with the sad look in his eyes, misery and pain tormenting him.

“Sirius said I was abandoning him. I told him he was being immature. A year ago I packed all my stuff, found this place to rent and supported myself from the money my parents left me, thinking I was being independent, that I was doing us both a favour. Pitiful, isn’t?”

“Oh, Harry…”

“We’ve only texted each other on holidays and on our birthdays, some dry, bland something or other which never really sounded like any of us. And today, with your family - when I was working on the motorcycle with your dad the way I used to do with Sirius, I realised,” Harry sighs, defeated, “I was being stupid. I’m still living off my parents’ money and I hate it. I hate it, Gin, and I don’t deserve it. Maybe that’s why I was desperate to move out, I don’t know.”

“Harry, listen to me, alright?” I gently nudge him till he looks at me. “You have to stop beating yourself up, yeah? People love you, Harry. They’re doing their best for you not because they have to, but because they love you. Is it that hard to wrap your big head around it?” I say and smile, guiding his palm to our baby, press it there, hoping he’ll understand. 

“Yes, baby, Daddy’s a bit daft sometimes,” I say sweetly as he pouts, “But he’s also very cute so we forgive him, don’t we?”

“Thanks, Gin.”

“Don’t mention it.”

We sit quietly for a moment as he rubs slow circles on the little bump, emerald eyes glinting as his features settle and the creases disappear. I lean in to caress his cheek, kiss his temple and stroke the wild hairs there.

“I’ve seen you read those motorcycle magazines sprawled on the grass, by the way.”

“You did?” Harry asks, surprised.

“Aha. I fancied that unruly hair and broody attitude from my very first day,” I confess, index finger stressing those last three words on the inside of his shirt, hooking around its buttons.

“Is that right?”

“Oh, yeah,” I go on, take care of the rest of his buttons, “I distinctly recall you were very sexily engrossed in your reading.”

Pop, the shirt is open.

“It’s safe to say, then,” Harry sheds it casually, “That I also caught a glimpse of this flaming red hair and adorable frown you wear all the time and I liked it.”

His fingers travel through my hair, his breath hot against my throat.

“At the - uh, bar?”

“No, when you were moving in. Wanted to help, but, to be fair, you looked kinda scary. And hot,” Harry teases, his lips peppering kisses on my jaw, my throat, my collarbone.

“Aww, Harry, that means we could’ve shagged a lot sooner. Are you aware that you’ve deprived the both of us of nearly an entire week of brilliant sex?” I pretend to scold him, index finger brought to his lips, tracing their contour.

Harry’s eyes darken and he grins, highly entertained.

“I am not a smart man.”

“I expect you’ll make up for it,” I wink and lean back, rest my head against the pillows, smile brightly up at him.

“That was the plan, ma’am, but those,” he primly tugs on my pajama bottoms, “are in my way.”

I snort - cheeky git.

“Did that ever stop you before?”

“Fair,” Harry grins. 

“Good. Let’s keep that record sterling, shall we?”

We’re naked within seconds, Harry cradled between my legs, kissing me hard, his hands gripping and roaming hungrily, his lips following closely. They travel over my shoulders, my breasts, my swollen stomach, his hands descending lower till he gently, slowly parts me open.

On his knees, our gazes meet as his finger touches me, spinning in light circles, catching speed and rhythm every time I moan and cry in pleasure. Harry watches my face, drinks in my reactions to his touch, my gasps as he slips two fingers deep inside while the first keeps pressing hungry circles. 

I widen my legs, clasp my ankles at his back, face buried in a pillow now. Harry bends over and captures my mouth, one hand on my jaw, while the other works and works until I scream into his mouth, grip at his hair, oh god. I need him.

Harry pulls me into his lap, slides inside and we both groan, our nails dug into our shoulders, our backs. I kiss him hard as he moves us, up and down, up and down, his hands holding my breasts, his tongue tasting each nipple, each freckle drawn across my skin.

I circle my legs around him, thighs rubbing fast against his sides, my head thrown back as his hands slide between us and he increases our rhythm, gliding, bouncing us up and down till the strings in the mattress creak.

A low, guttural groan rolls from his chest as Harry finishes with one last thrust, his forehead falling to my shoulder as I murmur how loved he is, how much he means to me, that he’s my love, my world.

“What would I be without you, Gin?” He smiles tiredly up at me, cupping my face to kiss me softly.

“Still single, probably,” I say mid-kiss and I can feel him laughing, shaking, grinning wide against my lips.

His hands gripping my thighs, he heaves us and spins me till I giggle.

“Let’s get you cleaned, yeah?” 

I hang to him tightly, cling to him as he takes us both inside the shower, under the soothing stream of warm water, and back to where we started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if the smut scene wasn't long enough it's only cause i'm saving a special, chapter-long one for later :)


	9. merry happy everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> to blattgefluester, who enjoys this story and keeps me enthusiastic about it  
to the anon reviewer on fanfiction.net, who said this ginny and them are kindred spirits and i was so excited i wanted to squeal  
to my one and only gryffindormischief for all the time she invests in our friendship

“And if you’re on about Bible study again, I swear, Harry -”

“For the last time, I panicked, alright?”

Loud footsteps on the other side of the door interrupt our light bickering and suddenly the old, fancy looking knob turns. A man appears through the crack, tall, long-haired and haughty, scanning us with gray, fathomless eyes as the door opens fully.

Those deep eyes bore into mine for a beat, like he’s searching inside to see if I could be trusted before he can relax, then swings the door open wider, a lazy kind of smile stretching his thin lips.

“What’s this Bible study the pair of you are on about?”

Sirius steps aside to allow us in, a grin resting on his face now as his gaze follows Harry, his every action, almost drinking in his words. There’s a dash of regret in his posture when he moves, eyes like wells of insurmountable love when he’s still. Oh, how could’ve Harry ever think this man didn’t love him or didn’t want him around anymore?

“It’s just something we definitely didn’t do. Isn’t that right, Harry?” I shrug, throw Harry a pointed glare, and extend my hand. “Ginny.”

He takes it and smiles easily, head slightly leaned to the side as the dark hair falls into his eyes with a sort of strange, casual elegance. It immediately makes me think of aristocracy and how a crown would definitely not feel odd or out of place perched atop his head.

“Sirius.”

“What’s for dinner?” Harry yawns, having disposed of our coats, and places an arm around my shoulders. “I’m starving.”

“Ha,” Sirius barks a laugh, “Course you are. Thrilled to find my only godson hasn’t changed. Right this way.”

We follow him through a dim-lit hallway, narrow and long with paintings adorned on the walls, all ancient looking and filled with many other dark-haired people, the same haughty look in their eyes. My eyes widen as we step inside a vast dining room - the grand table, the chairs, the immense chandelier dangling in the middle, all seem to be eye-wateringly expensive. 

There’s a nagging voice inside my head saying that Harry could’ve prepared me for this, but no. The little prick never said anything that might’ve indicated he’s secretly filthy rich and now I’m left here, blinking stupidly, with no idea what would ever be deemed a proper enough reaction. 

“Ignore the tacky, well, everything,” Sirius says, dry. “The Black family was a tad too happy to show their riches.”

“Dunno why you refuse to sell it,” Harry reasons as he claims a chair. I take the one next to him, feeling rather odd being sat with two other people at a table clearly made for a feast.

Sirius pours dark red wine into three crystal cups and pushes one in front of each of us.

“Simply because it’s not mine to sell.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I can’t accept it?”

Harry glares at his godfather then takes a short sip from his glass, the rich liquid inside twirling in circles as he places it back down on the table and steals a furtive glance at me. Apparently he’s also registered that there’re some teeny tiny details he’s forgotten to mention. Oopsie, eh, Harry?

“You can and you will,” Sirius swings right back, a bored expression on his face like they’ve been through this exact discussion hundreds of times before. “You’ll have a family one day. Where do you expect to live? In that one bedroom student apartment I heard you’ve rented?”

Harry slams his cup to the table a bit too loudly this time. I leave mine untouched, wondering if I should say something or if it’d be better to let them vent everything out.

“What I choose to do doesn’t concern you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really. Whatever I’ll end up doing, I’ll be careful to do it with my own money - money I’ve earned. I’m done living off other people’s backs.”

They’re both glaring at each other across the table and all I want to do is run outside and keep on walking until it’s quiet enough to hear my own thoughts. I have a feeling they’re just as pigheaded, the two of them.

Sirius considers Harry for a moment then sighs deeply, “We’ll talk more about this when you’ve finally deflated that big head of yours.”

“I’m quite able to provide for us and the baby, thanks,” Harry retorts fast, mulishly, sounding alarmingly like a stubborn child. 

Sirius blinks, “The who?”

Oh, dear. Harry, I love you, but you’re as subtle as a rock.

“Surprise?” I try on a faltering grin. 

Sirius’ eyes are transfixed, glued to Harry as his refractory pout melts into something close to shyness. 

“Ginny and I are,” Harry pauses to cough shortly or rather give himself time to find his words, “Yeah, we’re expecting a baby.”

He makes an effort to remain as dignified as possible as he says it and I have a feeling he’s only putting on this ridiculous show so his godfather won’t think we can’t handle it. 

But what Sirius thinks quickly becomes irrelevant, as he gets up so brusquely his chair is knocked to the floor and he swiftly trots to our side to envelop Harry in bear hug so tight and warm, his grin blindingly wide, my breath catches and a knot grows inside my chest. Those two idiots.

“You’re making me a grandfather,” Sirius sobs into Harry’s shoulder, gripping his sweater with trembling hands. I’ve rarely witnessed a person switch from surliness, to annoyance, to extreme delight over such a short span; it’s rather fascinating. Then a horrified expression freezes on his face and Sirius steadily rights himself to look Harry in the eye, gray piercing emerald green. “Have you not invited me to your wedding?”

Copious bouts of laughter roll against the walls, break against the black velvet drapes bracketing the tall windows, and for a second I’m surprised to find the laughter’s mine. All that’s happened is so ridiculous, so silly, I can’t help myself and I honestly can’t decide which one of them’s the bigger drama queen.

Reckon family feuds rarely start from a concrete something but, gosh, this is just so far down the scale.

“Sit down, both of you,” I shake my head and gently push them towards their respective chairs. “I have no clue what’s going on between you two and clearly Harry has a lot of explaining to do once we’re home,” I allow enough of a pause for the words to sink in and Harry has the courtesy to look abashed. “If all goes well, Harry and I will become parents sometime around June. Also to clarify, we’re not married, we’ve barely begun to share a home.”

“Then -”

“Got drunk,” I shrug, guessing what he’s about to ask before he can say it. Quite frankly, it’s everyone’s first question so you don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to know it’ll pop up in mostly any conversation from now until forever.

“Ah, happy to notice you two are keeping alive the fine British tradition of drinking irresponsibly,” Sirius laughs loudly, his laugh eerily similar to a bark as he elegantly shakes the dark hair from his eyes. 

The rest of the conversation flows warmly, smoothly, with Sirius and Harry more relaxed and chummy with each other. Harry grins and laughs every so often as his godfather recounts one of his latest misbehavings, hands traveling through his overgrown hair as he lounges in his chair at ease, tilting it back on two legs. He’s witty and mischievous, Sirius, so interesting and full of the wildest stories. I’ve rarely met another person like him.

But he’s also self-assured and somewhat arrogant, his tone one of a man who’s used to getting what he wants. Even so, it’s quite clear to me that he fiercely loves Harry and would never deliberately hurt him. 

I think we’re a bit similar, him and I. At the very least, I feel we’d both do anything for Harry.

It’s close to midnight when we leave, having thoroughly enjoyed the Sunday Roast and mince pie and treacle tart Sirius kept filling our plates with, his eyes twinkling as he lets out barks of pleased laughter whenever Harry remarks on how much he’d missed his cooking.

“Oh, and Harry?” Sirius calls from the doorway as we start to descend the flight of stairs, snow grating under our boots in the silence of the night. “Red hair? Really?”

Harry grins back at his godfather and takes my hand, eyes dancing behind round glasses. “Cheers,” Harry winks, two fingers at his temple in a brief salute.

“Why’s he so funny ‘bout my hair?” I ask as we make our way back home, the only two passengers of a chilly night bus.

“Oh, reckon it’s ‘cos my Mum’s hair was the same. Only a bit darker,” Harry smiles gently, pushes a strand of ginger hair back behind my ear and my heart leaps. Another little thing I didn’t know about him.

“Harry?” I whisper, hold his palm to my cheek. 

“Hmm?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about your family?”

“Dunno,” Harry says sheepishly, his eyes darting away from mine, “I just - I guess it didn’t feel right. We’re so happy.”

It’s almost as if he’s asking me, his eyes imploring, his bottom lip quivering slightly.

I squeeze his hand tightly, “We are so incredibly happy.”

“Yeah,” Harry squeezes mine back, “I was so busy basking in this new life we have together, I guess I didn’t think much about my past.”

My heart fills with love, it beats so hard it might break out of its cage, and I can’t hold back my tears any longer. I circle his neck with my arms and cry into his shoulder, telling him how much I love him.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

The snow catches the moon, its elegant rays, its twinkling shine. Its golden hue spreads all around us in the dead of winter, the only sound of two hearts beating against each other as the bus rolls fastly through every stop and takes us home.

* * *

I check off day after day on the calendar, frantically typing away on my thesis, stress-eating and losing my wits every other day because it’s going so incredibly slow. I’ll even go as far as admitting that I’ve been half expecting it to write itself but sadly it doesn’t and that irritates me deeply.

It vexes me nearly as much as Harry not having the decency to panic, casually loitering around the house until noon, lounging on the couch with a textbook and a cup of coffee, laughing with Sirius when he drops by with enough food to fill three fridges and feed a small village. He seems to find great pleasure in looking after us, this extravagant man with a big, loyal heart.

Soon it’s December 20 and I’m queueing outside the doctor’s office with Harry by my side, slightly out of breath after he’d hurried here from a meeting with his supervisor.

“How’d it go?” I ask as he leans in to kiss me shortly, his way of saying hello.

“Good, good,” he waves it off quickly, drops in the plastic seat next to me. “A few tweaks here and there and reckon I’m done. Nervous?”

“Yeah, a bit. Can’t believe you’re the academic one of the two of us,” I tease. In truth, it is somewhat disconcerting that Harry’s already done with his thesis when I’ve just started angsting over mine. 

“I’ve had a whole year ahead of you with Hermione breathing over my shoulder, mind.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

My eyes keep darting towards the clock on the wall, seconds ticking away to a faint sound of ‘boy-girl’, ‘boy-girl’, ‘boy-girl.’ We’ve avoided talking about what we’d like as much as we could, figuring it’s better not to raise our expectations and kept telling each other that anything’s fine as long as it's healthy.

But I keep imagining Harry’s unruly hair and green eyes on a small boy or his bright, infectious smile on a little girl with red hair. Oh. I might cry again, those dreadful hormones.

“Miss Weasley?”

“That’s us, love,” Harry smiles nervously and tugs at my hand. 

Thirty minutes later we’re out of the clinic grinning blindingly at each other, our cheeks rosy in the crisp winter air and nearly hurting. Ah, we can’t stop smiling!

It’s a boy, a perfectly healthy baby boy and he’ll look just like Harry, I know that. A little me and a little him wrapped together into one beautiful tiny human, ah, my heart will burst!

“A baby boy with a dash of freckles on his small nose and round cheeks, Gin,” Harry says giddily.

“And wild dark hair,” I add, smiling back at him as we nearly jump down the street, prancing excitedly as we hold hands, alight with happiness.

We’ve yet to figure out where we’ll live or how we’re going to support ourselves and the baby, but all those questions pale in the bright shining light of this new discovery. We’ll make it somehow, we have to.

I mostly daydream away the last days till Christmas, utterly unable to type in another word or even think about much else than our son and it’s amazing how I get goosebumps every single time, without fail. It’s brilliant.

And Harry’s so happy too: when he pops into the kitchen to see what I’m doing and of course I’m grinning stupidly at pictures of little baby clothes instead of studying and then he hugs me and we gush and spill out plans; how the baby’s room going to be and what names have we thought of and how it’d be better if he spent his holidays at the Burrow so he can run around the garden in his bare little feet and play.

He’s over the moon when he calls Sirius and tells him we’ll have a son and Sirius immediately rushes over, his bark-like laugh booming throughout our small apartment as he hugs and kisses both of us and calls himself ‘Grandad’. 

He’s delighted, too, when he calls Hermione and I can hear her squeak through the phone, sending us her love and offering to help with whatever we might need.

“Hermione’s parents are in France for the holidays, but she’d insisted she stays here to work on her thesis,” I start, picking at a loose thread in my leggings as we both settle on the couch and Harry zaps through the latest Netflix selections.

“Already invited her to the Burrow,” he says, his eyes still fixed on the screen, a subtle smile threatening to tug at his lips. 

“Oh,” I’m genuinely surprised, “What did she say, then?”

“She’ll be there.”

I chuckle lightly and kiss his stubbled cheek, fingers tracing through his hair.

“You say that you’re not as invested as me but you lie,” I grin and kiss him again.

Harry grins back, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses and plops to the side, lounging lazily, head on my lap. My hands play with his hair, lovingly scratch at his beard.

“They’d make a great pair, eh?”

“Better not tell my brother till we’re there - you know, just in case he chickens out.”

“You only want to see his face when she walks through the door, don’t you?” Harry laughs, yawning, his hands bracing my knees.

I study him in the dimmed light, his handsome features, his jaw, the subtle dimple in his cheek when he’s happy and relaxed, the plumpness of his lips. I bend down and kiss his forehead.

“I only have my brother’s best interests at heart, promise.”

“Yeah, that much I believe,” Harry grins up at me and I lean in again to place my lips on his. 

His hands move up to caress my spine underneath my shirt and it feels good, ah, I hadn’t even realised how badly it was hurting.

“What’d it take to convince you to give me a back massage?” I ask sweetly, twirling a wild strand of his hair round my finger.

Harry gets that mischievous sparkle in his eyes and I know exactly what he’s thinking, naughty boy.

“I’ll think on it,” he smiles, sly.

I moan, utterly and completely relaxed as he works the kinks in my back, works every knot and leaves a kiss where I tell him that it hurts. Soon we’re in bed, naked and panting, clutching at each other in a tangle of limbs. We fall asleep right after, happy and sweaty, sheets rolled around us and hair a complete mess. 

* * *

“Where’s Sirius?” Hermione asks as we trot together through the heaps of snow on campus, fighting our way to the bus stop early on Christmas morning.

“He’ll be down at the pub with some motor club mates this year,” Harry explains as he swipes our oyster cards and takes a seat next to me. “Asked him to join us but he’d already made plans. Promised we’d spend Boxing Day with him, though,” Harry looks at me as if to check if I’d agree.

I pat him on the knee, leave my hand there for a bit.

“Good, he can’t stay all alone in that horrid, big house.”

“Ah, so you’ve seen the house,” Hermione remarks, amused. “What’d you think?”

“So big it’s almost vulgar.”

“It is quite a lot, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is rather. Your godfather’s mental to be staying there by himself,” I go on passionately. “Did he ever marry, by the way? I mean, he is good-looking and rich.”

Harry looks at me slightly amused, “Frankly I’ve never seen him with anyone. Reckon dating’s not his thing.”

“Well, then it’s settled. We have to visit him as much as possible,” I clap my hands determinedly, “And have him round ours for New Year’s and all that.”

Harry doesn’t say anything but cups my face and kisses me hard on the lips as Hermione pretends to look out the window, her smile hidden behind her palm.

We chat easily on the train ride to Devon, jumping from professors to papers to the phases of pregnancy I’ve experienced so far (not much on that front for now besides some excessive tears here and there), carefully dancing around the topic of Ron and his and Hermione’s increasingly long conversations on Facebook since he’d walked her home last month.

“How did your Mum react when you told her it’ll be a boy, by the way?” She asks, dragging her wooly hat down over her ears, an effort to tame that brown bushy hair of hers.

“Oh, she was beside herself,” I wave my hand vaguely, grinning a bit. “It’s all she talks about, really.”

“I think that’s very sweet,” Hermione giggles, slips her hand-knit mittens on. 

“Yeah, I’m not complaining. It’s nice to have her fuss about something else than my future. Look, there’s Dad. I’d recognise that poor old Ford Anglia anywhere.”

Dad hugs us and immediately shepherds us into the car, babbling about chilly weather and how it’s not good for a pregnancy. I smile and place a hand on his shoulder as he drives us Ottery St. Catchpole, tells us about all the preparations they’ve made and how Fred and George collected a whole new batch of fireworks, and Charlie brought some wonky tasting alcoholic drink from Romania that burns your throat and knocks you out immediately, how Percy’d been arguing with him not to serve it at the Christmas table or nobody’d be able to make polite conversation if they had it, how this would be the first Christmas since Bill’s second daughter was born, how Ron had decorated the tree…

I notice Hermione’s cheeks tinged pink as Dad talks about Ron, how he’s of real help to him and Mum, the last child in the house. I suppress a smile of my own.

“Nephew coming through,” Ron proudly announces once Dad parks the car and we saunter through the neatly made snow trail towards the house. 

“He’s not even born yet, Ron,” I roll my eyes, secretly pleased.

He doesn’t notice Hermione walking behind Dad as he jumps to pat Harry on the back with a joyful “Hullo, mate” and a delighted chuckle.

But his glee doesn’t even begin to compare to mine as his eyes drop on Hermione, snow caught in her bushy hair, her face as red as his.

“Harry invited me,” she says, at a loss for proper words.

“Did you, mate?” Ron scowls at Harry but immediately offers to help Hermione with her bag. Their hands touch when he struggles to take the bag from her shoulder and I’m really surprised none of them faints.

Harry drapes an arm around me and guides me inside, telling me I’ve had enough fun and we should leave them be. Spoilsport.

Of course Mum hugs and kisses us, fusses around us merrily, greets Hermione with a “Delighted to meet you dear, Ginny’s told me so much about you”, then proceeds to grill her about food preferences and what she’s used to eat, drink or do on Christmas day. In other words, Hermione's just been properly welcomed to the Burrow.

I grab her hand and introduce her to the room at large, everyone stopping their holiday activities to cheerfully greet her. Excluding Ron, of course, who’s currently faffing round the fireplace, thrusting way too many logs inside he clogs it and mostly kills the fire.

It’s not long till Fred and George cotton on and correctly work out the reason why Ron’s suddenly embarrassed to speak, blundering with the drinks as he strides over to the kitchen to grab them and successfully spilling his own in his lap when Hermione compliments him on his Christmas tree decorating prowess.

Thankfully Bill and Charlie challenge the twins to a good old round of drinking games before they can do any actual damage, enough to last them until lunch and hopefully throughout dinner. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I help Mum in the kitchen and play with Vic as Fleur sings to baby Dom, swaying her to the tune of some gentle French song.

We’re all so stuffed after lunch, we can hardly move, each taking refuge on the various armchairs, poufs and on the couch, humming slowly to a tune on the wireless. Day squeezes into night and it’s only half past five in the afternoon but I already feel so sleepy.

I yawn, peel myself off Harry and ramble whalishly towards the little bathroom at the foot of the stairs, too full to climb all the way up. I wobble a bit on the loo, it’s always been a bit unsteady, wash my hands and splash my face with cool water. Good thing I’m not able to drink or I’d probably be already snoring next to Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George and I feel like I’m not ready to have Harry hear my snores yet. Hopefully he’s out before me at night. It’s either that or he really loves me, the world will never know.

But I freeze in my tracks as I make my way back to the living room, hand flying over my mouth as my gaze falls on Ron and Hermione snogging fervently under the mistletoe. 

I quickly walk backwards, as soundlessly as possible, and lock myself in the bathroom, quickly counting to a thousand and back again until I’m prepared to check once more. This time, the coast is clear.

I can’t stop myself stealing glances their way for the rest of the day, as they sit next to each other at the dinner table, as they both offer to help with the dishes. Later, Hermione suggests there’s need for more wood and Ron’s only too happy to show her how to split it. 

Finally, he’s the one to convince Dad there’s no need to drive us back to the station as he’d be more than willing to do it.

Ron throws me a look that bluntly states “get lost” once the train rolls in, one I’ve known since our early childhood. I stick my tongue out at him and tug Harry inside, passing by other passengers and their trunks to find a compartment for the three of us.

Obviously we sneak a peek down to the platform to find my brother timidly leaning in to kiss Hermione, their hands linked until the whistle blows and she has to climb inside.

“What?” She doesn’t balk when she meets our wide grins, though her cheeks still burn intensely. 

“Was he any good?” I grin once she drops onto her seat, deliberately not looking either of us in the eye.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s alright, Hermione, we won’t make fun of you,” Harry pats her arm reassuringly. “Did he use tongue?”

“Oh, shut up. You’re as bad as each other,” Hermione pouts and we burst into laughter, into gleeful, overwhelming merriment, simply happy to be alive and together.

“Happy Christmas, you two,” Hermione smiles toothily at us once our laughter dies down.

“Happy Christmas,” our voices lace together to echo right back.

Yes, happy Christmas indeed. It was such a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, it's christmas in march but we do need a little merry in our lives now, eh?


	10. brightly towards the new year - part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one thing before you dive right into this: it'll all be alright. it's not that kind of story and i'm not aiming to make myself or anyone else sad. canon did that to all of us already

“New Year’s? I thought we’d go out somewhere, get bored fast, return home.” I take the pen out of my mouth and lift my gaze up to meet Harry’s; he’s casually leaning on the doorframe, glasses perched up on his forehead as he rubs his eyes, yawns.

Lucky some of us still have the luxury of laying their heads for a kip.

And some of us are salty there’s still plenty of academic work in the way of possible napping. I’m some of us.

“Yeah, that’d be grand too, but - you know, it’s our first New Year together and next year we’ll be having a one year old,” Harry shrugs, glasses falling back at the top of his nose.

“Ah, afraid we won’t be attending wild parties for some time, are we?”

“Gin, the last time we partied even remotely wild, this happened,” he points a finger at my small bump and grins. “I’m happy it happened, yeah? But perhaps one baby is enough for now, at least till we’re something else than two mildly broke, unemployed almost graduates.”

“Harry, love, there’s just the one baby. Can’t possibly add another one as long as this one’s in there,” I tease, pen in my mouth.

He rolls his eyes, saunters next to me, one arm around my shoulders. “Ha ha, aren’t we smart today.”

“I have no choice, this thesis won’t write itself no matter how much I plead with it. But, yeah, alright, you can have your little New Year’s party.”

“Brilliant!” Harry beams, leans in to kiss my cheek. “Sirius, Hermione, and Ron will join.”

I slam the pen against the table. “What? You didn’t say we’d be having guests.”

“Reckon it was more or less implied.”

“Try less,” I drawl, fist propped up under my jaw. “You are aware that having people over means cleaning prior to their arrival, right?”

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun,” he grins widely, hand ruffling his hair.

“I hear you say it but I fail to see how that will happen.”

“We’ll hoover with Queen blasting in the background,” Harry winks and claps enthusiastically. “I’ll go check on the cleaning products supply.”

There’s a bit of a spring in his step as he hurries off. If only Mum could see him now, she’d probably adopt him straight away.

I let my forehead hit the table with a long groan. Ugh, why is life like this.

But Harry’s so excited, so incredibly happy as he plans food and drinks, hums as he dusts literally every single object crammed into our small home, shushes me when I protest - no, demand he gives me back the emotional support stationery supplies I’ve been hoarding since September; but Harry has his mind set on polishing everything until it sparkles and apparently that includes sticky notes and bookmarks too. 

Did I mention Mum would adopt him in a heartbeat? Her bloodhound senses are probably picking up the scent of a clean house as we speak.

I snatch the heart shaped notes back with a huff and suggest what else he can try polishing and leave me alone to moan about academia and aggressively type in another paragraph or two. Not one hour later I fall asleep at the kitchen table.

Next morning a strict ‘no entering the kitchen unless you’re the cook policy’ is set, therefore I am left with no other choice than grumble my way back to the bedroom and drag myself plus laptop straight to bed again. I suddenly feel like laptop and I are soon to become one, that people will never see one without the other. It’ll be Ginny and her trusty sidekick, a 2012 Macbook. Crime will be fought, justice will be served, academic papers will never again be handed in late. Mind boggling, eh?

I get over myself and back to the thesis, silently vowing to divorce myself should madness strike my poor brains in the future, thus instilling a silly wish to get a PhD within my heart. I guess Harry will just have to pick between reasonable Ginny and foolish Ginny because I certainly refuse to continue being both persons. 

By the time New Year’s Eve rolls in, the house looks like something Molly Weasley would happily prance around in. And, yes, I do feel guilty my contribution was close to nil but Harry keeps telling me I would’ve only gotten in the way. Normally I would take offence - right now, however, I am eternally grateful I could step aside and focus on reaching my thesis goal for December instead of driving both of us batty with my whining. Which I did, yay me! Reach the goal, that is.

Truth be told, he’s probably not lying when he says that. Or not entirely anyway. He’d had such fun with Sirius the other day, cooking and swapping stories, swinging jibes at each other like it’s nothing. The kind of snark and sass those two have would definitely terrify all living creatures, raise the hairs on anyone’s head, but to Harry and Sirius it’s just a way of showing that they care, it’s embedded in their beings, at the very core of their relationship.

“Told you it was a bad idea to tape mistletoe to the front door,” Harry drawls as he stares through the keyhole.

“Are you being a creep?”

“No,” he says over his shoulder, “Just judging your brother and my best mate who’ve apparently decided this is the moment to engage in a spontaneous snogging session.”

“Yuck,” I stick my tongue out and march past Harry, push him out of the way and swing the door open. “Stop being gross.”

I’m probably not talking loud enough because the two of them don’t even budge. Not even when I clear my throat and definitely not when I kick Ron in the shin. He just invites me to go somewhere Mum wouldn’t be happy to hear about and jumps right back to snogging the socks off Hermione.

I give up. Who was the genius that said those two should be together anyway?

Later, when we’ve all congregated in the living room in a more decent manner and in festive-ish attire, Harry’s sprinting from the kitchen and back again to bring in all the food and Hermione’s creating a playlist for the night (of course she’d researched every party playlist ever made to create the ultimate one), it’s Sirius who clinks a spoon to his whiskey glass, calls our attention.

“As you may know, I haven’t fathered Harry,” he states, grey eyes fixing our party of four, “because if I had, he would’ve definitely been better looking.” Ron sniggers as Harry flips Sirius with an amused expression on his face. “Can’t say anything about his brains, though. Certainly that was Lily’s hand. But even so, Harry’s always been like my own son and, as he grew, he’d also turned into my best mate. I’ve heard his first cry as he was born into this world and now I’m fortunate enough to witness him having a child of his own.”

Sirius stops, eyes lingering lovingly on Harry, his voice wobbly as he goes on. “To Harry and Ginny! May this new year bring them all the happiness in this world.”

The sound of glasses clinking fills the room, the echo of Sirius’ words on our lips. To Harry and Ginny! May we love each other endlessly.

“You tosser,” Harry laughs, voice somewhat strangled, “You just wanted to make me tear up in front of everyone.”

“Plan’s truly thwarted now,” Sirius winks. 

I have no idea what Harry says next because I’m dizzy and it all becomes black and I -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you can forgive me for leaving you hanging! i broke the chapter into two parts so at least something gets published now and kicks my inspiration right back into gear (keep your fingers crossed for that!)


	11. brightly towards the new year - part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> told you everything will be alright
> 
> here, enjoy the part II of what wasn't really supposed to be a two part thing. told you before this fic has a mind of it's own, didn't i?

I wake up in the morning definitely not feeling like P. Diddy. Sorry, that was a terrible joke and it’s not even morning - there’s a thick blanket of darkness coating the windows when my eyes flutter open briefly.

“Gin! Ginny,” Harry exhales and nearly launches himself over me, voice betraying fear mixed together with relief. “You’re up, oh, god, you’re up!”

I’ve no clue what’s happened but if Harry’s reaction is any indication, our little New Year’s party must’ve been cut short.

“That’s quite a fright you’ve given us, baby sis,” Ron says from somewhere next to my head as a soft hand squeezes at my other one: Hermione’s.

My eyes are finally fully open over the next minutes, the continuous hen-like clucking of Harry, Ron, and Hermione doing me and my throbbing headache no favour. I’m about to shush them and start asking questions when Sirius’ deep voice echoes from the other side of the door and he steps in with a doctor.

“Top of the morning to you, Sleeping Beauty,” Sirius grins.

“It’s not even midnight,” I drawl, throat feeling very sore. 

“Notice how I didn’t wish you a ‘Happy New Year’?” He winks, then gestures over to the man in a white coat standing right beside him, “Now cooperate, won’t you? The good doctor’s going to ask you some questions and hopefully fill us all in on what your fun little episode really meant, eh?”

The doctor throws Sirius a bit of an exasperated look, then kindly asks everyone to leave the room.

“Can he stay?” I ask, grasping Harry’s hand tightly. “He’s the father,” I quickly add, a little breathless, Harry’s hand squeezed in mine tighter than ever.

“Yes, that’s quite alright,” the doctor smiles gently and pauses while Ron, Sirius, and Hermione reluctantly vacate the premises.

“Miss Weasley, my name is Doctor Ferguson. First of all, I would like to assure you that your baby is healthy and that your condition is in no way unusual. It’s rather common, in fact, and, with close monitoring and care, your pregnancy and delivery should carry on smoothly.”

His smile is kind but, frankly, I haven’t really registered anything past ‘condition’. 

“I’m sorry - condition?”

Harry’s face blanches rapidly, the same way I suspect mine just did.

“As I said, it’s fairly common and we’ll take good care of you, Miss Weasley. I’ll explain everything right now. High blood pressure, also called hypertension, occurs when arteries carrying blood from the heart to the body organs are narrowed. This causes pressure to increase in the arteries. In pregnancy, this can make it hard for blood to reach the placenta, which provides nutrients and oxygen to the fetus. Without monitoring and care, reduced blood flow can slow the growth of the fetus and place the mother at greater risk of complications such as preterm labor and preeclampsia.”

There’s an odd ringing in my ears as Ferguson plows on with his explanations, a reassuring smile on his face. I don’t understand - are we alright? Is my baby alright?

He probably guesses what’s going on in my mind because he quickly adds, “Women who have high blood pressure before they get pregnant will continue to have to monitor and control it, with medications if necessary, throughout their pregnancy. High blood pressure that develops in pregnancy is called gestational hypertension. Typically, gestational hypertension occurs during the second half of pregnancy and goes away after delivery. As I understand, you’ve probably had an emotionally taxing, exhausting week which resulted in you losing your conscience tonight.”

“She’ll be alright, then?” Harry hurries to clarify and I’m glad he does. So far I can only understand I need to be very careful and this blood pressure thing will disappear after delivery. Right? Right?!

“She’ll have to drop by for a quick check more often than the usual monthly basis and closely follow the instructions I will write down for the both of you, but other than that, Miss Weasley, we should have you here in June in tip top shape,” Ferguson smiles kindly once again and I finally breathe. I can follow instructions, promise. Anything he’ll throw at me, I’ll take it.

Man, I’ve never been as frightened in my life. No, not even when I found out I’m pregnant - it doesn’t even come close to the thought of you hurting your own baby, the very life you’ve created and you’re responsible for. 

“No stress inducing activities,” Doctor Ferguson scribbles as he speaks and, to me, that honestly sounds like ‘good riddance’ to my thesis, “You will avoid exhausting yourself both mentally and physically, you will avoid all extreme reactions including anger or fury, you will avoid lifting heavy objects and at all costs you will not engage in house chores that involve you being hunched over. Your partner can handle a dirty floor and a bit of dusting around for now,” he finishes, eyes fixing Harry rather sternly. 

“Don’t worry, Doctor, Harry’s an enthusiastic cleaner,” I wink at Harry and give his thigh a light squeeze. There’s a guilty look in his green eyes that I don’t quite like, as though he’s jumping head first into blaming himself for this.

Ferguson prescribes the medicine I need to take starting tomorrow morning and, as we give our thanks, leaves to take care of the discharge papers. Apparently I’ll be spending the first day of the new year in our home, but the night’s party will have to move here. 

I do apologise to everyone for depriving them of a nice house party and Harry’s food but instead I’m met with a wave of ‘don’t be silly’ and ‘are you mental? we’re just glad you’re alright’ and ‘that’s my grandson in there; if he wants to spend a night in the hospital, he bloody well will’. 

They’re all so loving, I think I’m about to cry. And, yup, here they are, the dreaded waterworks. 

Harry hugs me tightly and kisses the top of my head as my shoulders shake with sobs, runs soothing circles on my back and whispers that he’ll take care of everything, that it’ll be alright. I know it will, Harry, I know but I didn’t want it to be more difficult for you than it already is! Oh, I can’t stop crying.

The clock strikes midnight and Ron’s pushing a plastic cup with warm tea in my hand and they’re all bumping their silly cups with mine, chanting ‘Happy New Year’ with wide grins. Harry’s arm is draped around my shoulders, him sitting on the small hospital bed next to me, laughing when Sirius hugs both of us, wolf whistling when Ron tips Hermione’s head back and captures her lips with such enthusiasm, her hands fly directly to the back of his head and tangle in his hair.

I catch Harry’s eye as he turns to look at me intently and I smile. “Shouldn’t we be kissing right now?” 

“Not you too,” Sirius huffs and drops into a chair, pulls out his phone to scroll on, bored.

Harry chuckles as he leans in and I lift my chin to meet him halfway. The feel of his lips on mine sends shivers down my spine and I feel an urgent need to say ‘I love you’ as he breaks away.

“I love you, too. So incredibly much,” Harry tells me, palm rested on my cheek. His eyes are shining in a way that makes me feel he can only see me, his only thoughts are of me, and I blush deeply; no one’s ever looked at me quite like that, no one’s ever given themselves to me like that.

Oh, Harry.

But soon I feel my eyelids very heavy and I drift away to sleep, the sound of their voices muffled by as I slip into a dreamless slumber.

Ron and Hermione are no longer here in the morning, but Sirius is still in the same plastic chair and Harry’s lightly snoring next to my ear.

“Top of the morning to you - again,” Sirius yawns and jumps up to stretch his arms a bit. “I’ll get a nurse and you’ll be on your way home in a tick.”

True to his word, Sirius comes marching back with what looks like an army of medical staff and I’m soon trusted back into my own and Harry’s care, with an appointment for the upcoming week and a long list of things I shouldn’t do for the next six months.

“Your Mum’s coming round ours today, by the way,” Harry says as he helps me get settled in the backseat of Sirius’ car. 

I groan. That’s absolutely not how I planned this day - in my head, there was a lot of good food and a lot more being naked. Bugger high blood pressure and common pregnancy conditions and argh. 

Don’t mind me, I’m just being salty Mum’s interfered with my sexual fantasies, ugh. 

Well that’s a fun sentence to cook up in your head.

I try and wipe the sour expression off my face as the car rolls out of the hospital parking and Sirius offers us a free and loud rendition of ‘All I want for Christmas is you’ and Harry laughs and kisses my temple, hands gripping tightly at my own.

“Can we still have sex, though?” I ask Harry but quietly over Sirius’ dulcet tones. 

“Yeah,” he whispers back, smirking. “Asked Ferguson and he said it’s alright but no - erm, enthusiastic moves or too much effort on your part. Sadly reckon that means you won’t be on top for awhile.”

“Oh, yes, that’s very sad indeed,” I bite my lip, amused. Bloody hell yeah, the good doctor couldn’t have given me better news if he tried to. Ha.


	12. a tale of three mums

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moving through this fic one 2k sized chapter at a time and no, i don't know how many more there'll be. i just know where it will end. will it take 10 more chapters to get there? maybe. will it actually take 50? probably.

Harry gets up first and I catch him as he hooks his fingers round the hems of his grey shorts to pull them up lightly. Luckily, not too much as the cluster of dark hairs climbing up from under them and stopping right beneath his navel is still visible, and the two subtle lines disappearing right inside -

“Ginny, breakfast!”

Oh, bugger. I forgot she arrived late yesterday. And here I was, deviously planning to have Harry for breakfast - I mean, how could I not? That V line and the patch of hair and the subtle abs do for me things I couldn’t ever describe in the presence of my Mum.

Harry’s eyebrows raise and then he looks at me, bemused. “Somehow I forgot your Mum’s here.”

“Tell me about it,” I drawl as he helps me up and I shove my feet out of bed and into the puffy slippers I gifted myself for Christmas. I’m slowly becoming aware that she’ll be at the door if we don’t come marching to the kitchen soon because if there’s one thing Molly Weasley cannot suffer, that’s food being spoiled.

And there it is, the banging at the door. 

“Wake up, dears. There’s porridge waiting.”

“We’re coming,” I want to say nicely but it actually comes out as a bit of a shout and I see Harry jolt a little. Can’t blame him - but I can advise him to toughen up. There’s more from where that came from when Mum and I are bundled together in the same space for more than a day.

“Oh, Harry, dear, should I try and cut a bit of your hair later? It’s getting a awfully unruly, I’m afraid,” Mum fusses over a distraught Harry as she simultaneously serves us porridge (god forbid I carry something as heavy as a bowl and spoon).

“Mum, no. That’s what Harry’s hair is like,” I roll my eyes and brush Harry’s foot under the table, just in case he gets any ideas. The hair is staying.

“But it’s so rumpled, isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s how I like it,” I say in a tone that suggests this is final, then stuff almost half the quantity of the porridge bowl in my mouth. I’d forgotten Mum can make a mean porridge, wow. If I wouldn’t fear for Harry’s messy locks right now, I’d definitely invite her to stay forever.

Mum shoots me a stern look, but doesn’t continue. Instead, she does the dishes, scrubs the counter and inspects the leftovers huddled inside our fridge like she’s an army general on a mission. When she’s finally done, Mum decrees the whole apartment needs a good scrub and shoos us away.

Although Harry does insist he help her, but I think he’s only making her highly emotional. Her voice quivers violently when she thanks him, then presses him to go sit with me as ‘you’ll be back to school on Monday, poor dears.’ 

“Is she always like that?" Harry blinks, mostly confused as though he’s unsure what to make of all of this.

“Yeah,” I sigh and pull my laptop from its bag, mentally preparing myself for a hot date with the neverending thesis. 

“Is this how she’ll be when the baby is born?”

“Oh, no,” I laugh, “it will only get worse.”

Harry plops onto the bed next to me, mattress springs lamenting faintly as he shifts to wrap both arms around me, rests his palms against the growing bump. “But I wanted to take care of you,” he sighs against my neck. 

“You could help me with this flaming piece of -”

“Easy, you’re not supposed to get angry.” His tone is calming and his lips are leaving light kisses down my neck and at the base of my head, his hands sneaking inside my pajamas to rub my belly slowly. If he thinks this will calm me down, well, he’s right. I’m all but purring in his arms and soon I slip into that state of great focus and concentration that allows me to think and write and finally engage my brain.

There’s a thin balance that we manage to keep inside the house, with Mum faffing all over the place and Harry and I mostly confined to the bedroom - but really not in the way it might sound. It’s a cleaning war on the other side of the door, until Mum deems it right to bustle in and go as far as sorting our clothes (and quite probably silently judging me for my choice in underwear). It is fun though seeing Harry turn scarlet as Mum neatly packs his pants and sets them back inside the drawer in an orderly fashion, sending him away when he jumps in to help with a ‘don’t be silly, dear.’ Nothing can escape the cleaning wrath of Molly Weasley. 

I’m nearing to what I hope to be the second part of my thesis and Harry flips through a motorcycle magazine, then some criminal law textbook interlaced with a new edition of his favourite sports mag, only to end the day playing some loud computer game with no other than my brother Ron. No doubt he’s taking advantage of Mum’s absence, the plonker.

I dial his number on my phone and, making my voice a little higher than usual, a little more stern, I say, “Ronald Weasley. What are you doing on the computer this late?”

“Mum?” Ron splutters.

“No, you prat. It’s me, your beloved sister.”

“Oh, it’s you. ‘Sup?”

“Nothing much, just wondering when will I be spared from hearing your adorable howls.”

“Harry, mate, buy yourself some decent headphones, my sister’s very sensitive,” Ron says in his microphone and Harry grins. He does have the decency to wipe that grin off once he takes in the expression on my face.

“Listen here,” I speak slowly into the phone. “If you don’t shut up, I’m telling Mum.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Oh yeah? Try me.”

“If you do, I’ll tell her what you did when they went to Aunt Muriel’s that weekend.”

“Fuck you, that was five years ago!”

“Doesn’t count if you’re still too chicken to tell.”

“Doesn’t count if you’re too stupid.”

Harry swipes the phone out of my hand and presses on the red button, an amused smile on his face. “Very mature.”

Then he turns on his wheely chair back to the computer to address Ron. “Mate, reckon it’s a bit late for two out of the three of us. Better go to sleep before someone starts weeping, yeah?”

“Shove it, Potter,” Ron and I retort at the same time but Harry simply laughs, disconnects his computer and kisses me on the forehead before he slips into the bathroom. Hmph.

I take my turn at the loo when he’s done, tell a snoozing Mum ‘good night’ and settle into bed next to him, lights turned off and the duvet cosily tucked high up to my chin.

“So what is it that you did five years ago, hmm?” Harry asks as he pulls me closer to him, my head nestled cosily under his chin.

“You heard that, didn’t you?”

“I would’ve feared for my hearing abilities otherwise,” he chuckles, kissing the top of my head as he twines his legs with mine in a jumble of limbs under the duvet.

We’ve never talked about previous relationships and I do wonder if this is the moment to delve into it. But he did ask so here it is, Harry, love, the whole sad little thing.

I sigh, close my eyes. “I brought a boy home. And slept with him. He was my boyfriend.”

“Preposterous,” Harry gasps in false shock. 

“Thanks for not thinking poorly of me,” I hug him tighter. Really, was I honestly thinking he’d be upset or offended?

“Don’t be silly. I left a girl pregnant on my first ever one night stand encounter, I’m definitely not one to judge.”

“I hope you’re alluding to me. You don’t have any other children born out of wedlock, do you?”

“Aw, I was waiting for our wedding day to spring the news,” he snorts, fingers tickling at my sides.

“Blew your cover. And you call yourself a Criminal Law student.”

“Not a very good one, I suppose,” Harry chimes in good-naturedly and pauses for a bit. “Was he your first boyfriend?”

Ah, here we go. We’re stepping into ex-boyfriends and girlfriends land. 

“No, he was my second but he was the first I had sex with. I broke up with him almost a year after that so I’m not particularly proud of my life choices.”

“Why? Was he a git? Did he do something to you?” His grip grows tighter on me as he speaks, his words coming out faster and faster.

“No, nothing like that. We just - we just weren’t good for each other. And I knew that when I decided to go all the way with him, but then Devon was all I knew and I didn’t imagine I’d one day have the courage to escape and meet new people. I think I thought the life I was accustomed to was all I would ever have.” My throat clogs as I recount, my head hiding into his chest when I finish.

“Hey,” Harry lifts my face up and kisses me. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re the most wonderful, brilliant woman I’ve ever met and there’s nothing that could ever change this, yeah?”

“You’ve probably not met that many women,” I pout, bottom lip trembling. “How many girlfriends have you had?”

“Two, with you.”

“Oh, wow, I would’ve never guessed. And you don’t sleep around. How did you get all your moves, then?”

“To be fair, I didn’t. I described my first kiss with Cho - that’s her name, by the way - as wet so you can imagine what came after.”

“Haha, you disaster.”

“Pretty much, yeah,” he laughs with me, caresses my face. “It’s just proof of how good we are together, isn’t it?”

“That you don’t suck at sex?” I smirk, unable to control myself.

“Very funny,” Harry touches his nose to mine then rolls on top of me and shimmies his way down my body. “Does this suck?” He asks, lifting up my nightgown and kissing around the insides of my thighs.

“I don’t know, you’ll have to try harder,” I giggle, his breath tickling my skin, a sudden heat flowing through my stomach.

“Does this suck?” Harry asks again, this time from between my legs. And this time, he pulls my underwear to the side and slants his mouth on me.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” I swear, eyes closing shut as I sigh in pleasure.

“Liar,” Harry hisses and carries on undeterred.

* * *

When Sirius drops in to visit us at the end of the week, he’s greeted by Mum plus a scandalised look she’d always specially reserved for overgrown hair, heavy boots and leather jackets - and it just happens that Sirius embodies all of them. And, frankly, so does my brother Bill. They’d get along well, I’m certain.

“Sirius Black,” he introduces himself and steps inside the house, vigorously shaking the snow off his boots.

“Molly Weasley,” Mum replies, not entirely convinced. But then she recovers her wits, places her hands on her hips and gazes at him sharply. “Are you a friend of Harry’s?”

Sirius takes his time unlacing his boots before he lifts his brow to look at her, scanning her intently much as he did with me when we first met, analysing whether she could be trusted, whether she would be good for Harry to have near him.

“I’m his godfather,” he says, but very slowly, a proud glint in his grey eyes.

“Sirius, this is my Mum,” I interject quickly and throw Mum a pointed look. 

“Charming,” he mutters as he passes by me and claps Harry on the back. “How are you, mate?”

“Great, Sirius, we were -”

A few quick raps at the door interrupt whatever Harry was about to say and Mum throws her hands in the air, scandalised. “I thought you two were busy studying, not hosting parties. Exerting yourself could be harmful to you, Ginny, you should remember what the doctor said: no fussing about. And it’s only the last semester, you know, and it’s very important that you focus,” she huffs, undoubtedly preparing to launch herself into a tireless rant on the relevance of revising and the gravity of our grades.

Fortunately for all parts involved, the door slams open in her face the moment she twists the knob, a party of three flooding the hallway. 

“Remus,” Harry gasps before the air is knocked out of him by a blue-haired boy jumping in his arms. “Easy, Ted, woah. You’ve gotten bigger!” He exclaims, hugging the boy excitedly.

“Harry!” Another stranger - a woman with wild pink hair and a silver rod piercing her right eyebrow kisses Harry’s cheeks and then hugs Sirius, calling him her favourite cousin.

“I’m your only cousin without a criminal record,” Sirius barks a laugh and I find myself sharing the same disbelieving look as Mum. What’s just happened?

“How come you’re back? Weren’t you supposed to be teaching in the US for another six months or something?” Harry asks as he ruffles the boy’s hair, laughing when he starts recalling what seems to be all of his overseas adventures crammed into thirty seconds of speed talking.

“We missed dear old England too much,” the man called Remus replies lazily, stepping into the living room and politely addressing Mum a ‘pleasure to meet you, ma’am.’

“Bollocks,” the woman with pink hair protests, the many steel rings piercing her ears jingling as she shakes her head, amused. “If I heard another forced ‘arse’ instead of ‘ass’ from an American trying to do a British accent -”

“Yes, thank you, dear,” the man drapes an arm around her shoulders and smiles kindly at both Mum and I. “This is my wife Dora,” the woman immediately makes a strange noise of protest at the use of her name, “our son Teddy and I’m Remus Lupin. We’re...old friends of Harry’s.”


	13. future plans & granny pants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remembered how much i enjoy writing this story so ta-dah! have a new chapter quickly written between two trips (and lo and behold, i’ve also finished the outline of the entire story! recklessly writing in the dark? not any more lol)

Fortunately, Harry takes his ‘old friends’ out for a coffee and a long chat before Mum is at her wits’ end. Even though Molly Weasley being who she is - eh, she can’t not throw her hands up in the air when the door shuts after Harry, huffing and puffing across the hallway, ginger-grey hair flying about as she stomps and storms and overthinks.

Mum finally stops, spins on her heels and plants her tireless hands on her hips with a heavy thump. She glares.

“Gatherings smack in the middle of the school year?”

I glare right back. “Did it seem like I invited any of those people?”

“Well, who are they, then?”

“Excellent question. I too hope that Harry will be able to enlighten me once he returns,” I drawl, plopping on the couch maybe a little bit too hard. Those cushions are not gentle on the backside, I’ll have you know. Anything to get the point across, I guess.

She stomps around some more before placing herself firmly on the armchair, gaze stern and upper lip quivering. There’s something she wants to say, something I might not care for. Well, then - let’s have it.

“Just say it.”

“Well, all of this -”

“You don’t like it, do you? You’re not as thrilled as you let me believe, are you?”

I know I’m defensive, glare and hands crossed over baby bump and all, but I also know I’m right. It takes just one sideways glance at Mum’s face: a little frightened, a little confused, like I’ve caught her elbows deep in the cookie jar.

But then she tucks her hair behind her ears and sighs. “It’s all very modern, dear, that’s all. Not what I’m used to.” ‘Modern’ is my Mum’s code for scandalous, by the way.

I’d actually soften at her gentle, motherly smile if my insides weren’t already boiling with rage at the blatant lie. I take a long inhale, exhale before I fix her with the most neutral, most impartial look I can muster. I am Switzerland, Switzerland is me. I shall not go to war with my mother over this.

“Mum?”

“Yes, dear?”

“You do realise your marriage is a bit younger than Bill is, right?”

And just like that her cheeks flush the most intense pink and I’m left marvelling between the fact that I made my stern, tough mother blush and the sheer ridiculousness of her not taking into account that her children are able to do basic math.

“That was completely different,” Mum sputters once she recovers, shifting in the armchair so she’s poised with a maximum of dignity.

I snort, “Different how?”

Her brow is furrowed when she speaks and I suddenly understand she’d been bracing herself for this specific conversation ever since I announced the pregnancy to a table full of Weasleys. “Your father and I - we knew each other. We loved each other.”

It feels a little like being slapped, her words stinging a little more as they sink in, plunging deep inside my conscience.

“And what gives you the inkling that Harry and I don’t love each other, that what we have isn’t as real?” I ask, every word clipped.

“You’ve only known each other for a few months, love doesn’t come that easy,” she argues and, to her credit, she doesn’t avert her eyes as she finally speaks her mind.

Have you ever been tempted, so bloody tempted to tell your parents to fuck off that you need to bite the inside of your mouth to stop? Because I am right now and I feel blood pooling on my tongue and I feel that dizzying hand holding me back, pulling me towards the darkness. But I’m not going to go gently, not this time. I need to be present so I can settle this now; no stalling, no stopping this time.

“Mum, listen to me as closely as possible because this is the only time I’m saying this: you can be a part of all that’s happening - the baby, Harry and I, my future, or you can stay far away and miss everything. That’s up to you to decide. But what you have no business deciding is how right or wrong this is, how much or if we love each other; that’s only for us to see, to feel, to make it work. Harry is a wonderful man and he didn’t ask for all of this and, quite frankly, neither did I. But it still happened and we agreed we’d let it happen so don’t try to guilt me into giving up because I don’t want to. What I want is exactly what I have now.”

Tears are prickling behind my eyelids as I take a deep breath and start towards the bedroom. What I’ve just said is as new to me, as curious as it appears to be for my mother and I need space to think through it, to cry it out and then feel light and love and everything because all I have is all I ever wanted.

Eventually, Mum and I do make up before she leaves and, when we do, it’s the proper British way of letting bygones be bygones: over a hot cup of tea.

* * *

Imperceptibly, January rolls into February. We still wake up to brave the cold every morning, we still cuddle close at night under the duvet, flowers of ice growing slowly at our windows all throughout the night. It’s cosy, safe; it’s home.

I panic less about the thesis, a daily diet based on hot chocolate and Harry keeping me as zen as possible. There’s a balance now between us, a steady rhythm to the growth inside me, a light, constant buzz about us as we prepare for life. A new life.

But we’re still us, we’re still the same. Harry with his rumpled head of hair in the morning, the small dimple in his cheek as he smiles at me through bleary eyes before he finds his glasses, the warm hands that encircle me at night, stopping at the centre of my belly, stopping to greet and feel his son. Me, as irate as ever - and as soft as ever when my gaze turns from the world to Harry, to my own world. To what I’m hoping to call ‘family’.

Nothing changes, everything grows.

Including my butt.

“Will you still think I’m sexy if I tell you I don’t fit in any of my knickers anymore?” I pout over a discarded pile of underwear, half naked in the middle of the bedroom.

Harry looks up from his e-mails, white light brushing over his face, and takes in my bare behind. He grins. “That arse looks better naked anyway.”

Well, he sure knows how to charm a lady.

“So you’re saying you’d be alright with me strutting around campus butt naked in the midst of this chilly winter?”

“I believe a hot shower was how this all started,” Harry shrugs nonchalantly, but the little smile at the corner of his lips gives the macho act away. I smile and shuffle to him, gracefully placing my bare, cold cheeks in his warm lap.

“Promise to warm my butt every night in your hot shower, nurse it back to life?” I bat my lashes, lean in to nuzzle his cheek, leave a kiss at his temple.

Harry shuts his computer and turns his full attention to me, lips dragging lazily against mine for a brief moment. “I’d nurse it right now, if that’s what it wants.”

My stomach twists, those deep, emerald eyes burning into mine.

“It’s exactly what it wants, I can confirm,” I mumble and Harry smirks, lifts me up effortlessly, carries me inside the bathroom. Gently, carefully, he opens the shower cabin and places me down on the hard tiled floor.

“Reckon I’m overdressed for the occasion,” I lift an eyebrow, tug at the dark green sweater on me.

“Not for long.”

And he makes good on his promise, slipping the sweater off me, unclasping my bra. Harry plays with the water temperature until it’s just right then strips and settles himself behind me on the shower floor, legs stretched on either side of my body. His chest brushes over my back and I lean onto him, arms bracketing his legs.

“Water alright?” Harry asks as he lets the warm tide sink into my shoulders, the muscles on my back and I can only purr in response.

He presses his knuckles gently into the knotts, brushes them all over my back, trailing kisses here and there with warm lips, warmer than the water, warmer than the sun. He lets his palms run over my shoulders, lets a finger brush over my clavicle, lets another feel the pulse beating fast on my throat.

His breath is hot behind my ear and his mouth stops there briefly to kiss and whisper, “I’d spend my life with you like this.”

Breath hitches inside my throat, heart leaps, surprised. “You’d spend your life with me?”

“Happily,” Harry says and his arm goes over my chest to draw me in and kiss my lips, my jaw, my neck, one hand over my belly in a way that has me thinking ‘mine’. And we are, aren’t we? His girl, his son, and all the love we have to give.

The water runs warm against my shoulders when the tips of his fingers slide down between my legs, a gasp and then a moan tumbling through my lips.

“Is this alright?” Harry asks, thumb of his other hand rolling over a puffed nipple and I let my head fall on his shoulder, close my eyes shut, open my legs wider.

“Don’t stop,” I manage to say before I let go completely.

His hands are gentle, steady at my chest, between my legs, thumb rolling over nipples, thumb pressing lightly against that little bundle of nerves and my arms coil around his legs, teeth sinking into bottom lip. And all this time, his eyes, his deep, deep eyes are watching me, watching my face, learning and unlearning all of my reactions.

Soon I buckle into his hand, into his caresses, into the fingers setting fire inside my body, his name hanging on my lips, swinging at their corners.

When I find my body, my legs again, I press a palm into the wet, tiled floor and rise, motioning Harry to do the same. I glance shortly at him before I press into the wall, my back arched into him, beckoning him to find his release.

In a moment his hands are at my waist, pushing forward with the tip, sliding easily inside. Harry groans and, placing one hand at my breast again, he builds the rhythm that he needs; it’s never slow, but hungry, built on lust and need.

My name rolls hot and wild down his tongue, his mouth searching for mine, long fingers spread over my jaw as I meet him thrust for thrust. It’s not long before I call his name again.

We wash each other’s back when we’re done, kissing and laughing under the gush of warm water, attempting and failing to wash the other’s hair: Harry’s too tall and I can only splatter the lather on his fringe, while he constantly forgets that I have eyes and sprinkles shampooed water in them.

Happy and clean, we towel ourselves dry (actually, Harry towels me dry, unsatisfied with the drops of water still clinging to my skin), slip on wooly socks and comfy clothes. Sunday is ours to enjoy.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, eyes scanning his phone behind his round glasses, then slumps into bed.

Or maybe not.

“What?” I crawl next to him, almost certain that wasn’t his conclusion to our sweaty little shower romp. It wouldn’t be fair.

He growls heavily before he answers, hand dusting his glasses away to cover his eyes. “Moody wants me to rewrite an entire chapter by Tuesday. An entire chapter!”

“What? Why?”

“Says it’s biased.” Harry nearly spits the last word, face scrunching from what he probably feels is the sheer injustice of it.

“So you won’t be able to join me as I attempt to find underwear that will actually fit?” I pretend to pout, make light of the situation.

Harry’s face relaxes and he chuckles, hand traveling to rest on my butt. “Afraid not. But the bare bum offer still stands, promise.”

“Pass. I usually hate my ovaries, yet I don’t want them to freeze off and fall. I’ll ask Ron, then,” I shrug, rolling off our bed and Harry outright laughs at this. “Not joking.”

“No, I know you’re not. I was just imagining how it will play out.”

He grins wide and I roll my eyes. Surely my brother is able to handle a pair of women’s underwear by the age of twenty-five.

* * *

“You’re lucky I was already in London,” Ron postulates, brandishing his coat over his shoulder as we walk into the shopping mall.

“Oh, please,” I chide, rolling my eyes, “I know you’re spending every weekend at Hermione’s. And I also know she had a lot to study today and you were bored out of your wits.”

“You know too much,” he comments, scoffing.

“Yeah, well, you’re about to dive full speed into TMI territory in a tick.”

“What’s that now?”

“Oh,” I stop, struck by realisation. A devilish smile spreads across my face as I look up at my brother, confusion laced with freckles on his features. “I didn’t tell you what I need to buy?”

Ron looks scared when he answers a queasy “No.”

“It seems, dear brother, that pregnancy has left me unable to drag any pair of underwear over my ever rounding hips. So here we are,” I spin around once, hands drawn out for better effect, “buying knickers. Disappointed?”

I can’t very much read his face, upper lip curling to reveal his teeth, nose scrunched a bit - but if I were to guess, I’d lean heavily towards disgust.

“No,” Ron concedes, shaking his head vigorously, ginger hair brushing over his forehead. “Just stuck between feeling relieved you’re not dragging me to a sex shop and feeling sick because I’m about to help my sister shop for - for underthings, for unmentionables that will help her boyfriend defile her.” He looks a bit green as he utters the last words and the laugh that erupts from my throat rings throughout the mall.

“Ron, you git, no one will ever find me sexy in granny pants. And don’t say ‘unmentionables’, you’re not Aunt Muriel.”

A mad, toothy grin splits his face. “Doesn’t matter, actually, because no one’s going to see you in them anyway.”

For the second time, I stop dead in my tracks. Slowly, my neck creaks in a The Exorcist-like rotation towards him, bewildered eyes trained on the smug expression plastered on his face, the loose, cool demeanor of his body. Does he think he’d just ticked off the ‘my sister will never get laid again’ box because I’m pregnant and about to have a baby?

I clear my throat. “You do realise people don’t stop having sex just because they’re pregnant, right?”

There’s no answer, only horror floating about Ron now. Cool. Welcome to the real life, big brother.

And just to mess with him, I drag him into Victoria’s Secret first - just to watch as his ears flash millions of red shades until they settle on a very becoming vermillion. Wicked.

Unfortunately, we do have to move on soon as Victoria hasn’t ever thought about big bummed, pregnant ladies in her life and none of the overpriced, skimpy, lacy things I’d usually gush over won’t fit. No problem, saving a bit of money never killed anyone. This one goes to your college savings account, kid.

Thus, we pop into H&M, where granny pants and ugly knickers are at our disposal, all stashed neatly in one corner, on the very opposite side of the pretty ones. How efficient.

I lose Ron somewhere deep within the men section and I can go about my sad shopping undeterred. It’s easier for everyone. He spares me his comments, I spare him my tears over grey and maroon overly large cotton pieces and thick, hideous sports bras.

The part of me that’s really passionate about lingerie is ten kinds of insulted now. Ah, the things we do for love.

(I sounded entirely like Jamie Lannister before he crippled Bran for life, didn’t I? Another sign I’m ready for motherhood, then.)

* * *

I yawn so hard I hear my jaw pop as I drag myself into the very first class of Political History on our second Monday of February. Both Hermione and I have signed up for it ever since the beginning of the year and have been wondering what’s up with the class ever since. We were supposed to take it in our first term, then it was pushed into the second. And then, when the chilly second term began, it was pushed once more - and by an entire month.

“Hope all the delaying and waiting were worth it,” I sigh into my coffee as I drop into a very uncomfortable chair. All the tuition money they get and none goes into bettering students’ lives, huh.

“I heard he taught at Oxford, it must mean he’s very good,” Hermione whispers almost fanatically, her dark brown eyes deep pools of eagerness.

I grimace. “Gah, I hope he’s not one of those super posh people jolly-ing all over the place.”

“I gather Harry hasn’t filled you in.”

I almost drop the coffee as a voice I’ve definitely heard before frightens me into oblivion, the baby jumping painfully on my bladder. What the -

“No, he’s very nice like that,” I drone as my gaze drops on Remus Lupin, our new Political History professor.


	14. of ropes and biscuits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look out for smut  
(tw: bondage)

“How about a charcuterie board?”

“Eugh, no.”

“Salmon on a bed of rice?”

“No way.”

“Paella?”

“Just kill me.”

“Is there anything you want to eat besides pizza?”

“I’m sorry, your son is hooked on it,” I sigh, tossing the fancy menu aside. What a waste of a very classy restaurant.

“Alright,” Harry grins, “we’ll order two pizzas and watch the waiter die inside.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I match his grin and clink my glass of water to his, tangle my fingers through his over the properly white and definitely expensive table cloth. Posh might be wasted on us.

“Happy Valentine’s,” Harry winks and bites into his pizza with gusto and it all seems rather appropriate, the ridiculousness of it all a perfect characterisation of what we are, of how we’ve been so far. 

“Cheers, mate.” 

I roll an entire slice of pizza into my mouth and moan in pleasure. What? The kid is hungry.

We amble out of the restaurant an hour later, arm in arm, chummy and serene. Our breaths linger in the dark as we talk, recounting stories and commiserating over the poor waiter’s face as Harry ordered pizza and a big bottle of water in one of London’s poshest venues. 

“You should’ve at least ordered a glass of champagne,” I laugh, leaning into his side.

“Nah, sympathy abstinence.”

“Such a gentleman.”

“I know. Sirius would be fuming.” We both laugh and Harry stops to wipe off his glasses on the sleeves of his grey winter coat.

“You’d think they’d invent a pair of glasses that won’t fog up immediately upon switching from warm to cold and vice versa,” I observe as Harry’s nimble fingers clean the lense spotless.

His head dips to the side like he’s about to say something, but then he stops and listens. Confusion lays suspended on his features for a brief moment before his entire body relaxes, the smile playing at his lips now wide and toothy.

“What?” I quirk an eyebrow, palms absent-mindedly falling on my belly, covering it protectively.

“Listen,” he says and I do. A slow, gentle violin tune plays in the air around us, mingling with our frozen breaths, inviting. It gets louder as I continue to listen, the vibrations of its strings echoing inside my heart.

Unchained melody.

Harry lifts his palm and I take it, lean in close, lean against his chest as he sways us on the concrete, through the coldness of the night. He hums gently, his jaw resting on the crown of my head, my temple against his beating heart. We dance, slowly, happily.

Neither of us speaks, steady breathing and the violin the only sounds piercing through the night. It’s soothing, pacifying. An appeasing, gentle moment right in the middle of our crowded, loud lives.

_ Oh, my love, my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch… _

The music softly dies and Harry’s arms wrap me closer to him, holding me tightly, my face resting snugly against the wool of his coat, the side of my boots rubbing over his as we continue to sway in our own world, to our silent melody.

“Until next time,” Harry whispers into my hair, nuzzling along its crown. 

Then his lips are on mine, soft and welcoming, one hand at the back of my head, knotted through my hair. I gasp as his tongue searches for mine, arms circling his neck at their own accord. Rounded belly against his stomach, my hips press into his and I can hear as he inhales sharply.

“Home?” Harry asks jaggedly and I’ve never wished more for the power to apparate.

He keeps a warm hand snuck up my dress to rest on my thigh throughout the taxi ride home. I bite my lips every time he squeezes the skin there, his gaze lost somewhere out the window, through the fogged glass, jaw fixed. 

Harry touches my face tenderly the moment we arrive and step inside, thumb rubbing gently at the freckle above my upper lip. Then he brings his mouth to mine and the gentleness subsides, leaving room for passion and hunger and lust. His hands are in my hair as we stumble our way into the bedroom. Coats drop in our wake.

There’s a steady hand between my shoulderblades as Harry lowers me onto the mattress, another at my hips, searching for the hem of my knickers, fingers twisting to peel them off, all the way down off my feet, over the heels of my boots. 

I bite my lips, amused, at the thought of my mother hearing I’ve worn shoes in bed, the nastiest travesty of manners by her personal code.

From the back pocket of his jeans Harry produces a type of soft rope that coils in his palm and all stray thoughts cease to exist. He meets my (very) confused gaze with those deep emerald eyes of his, a tinge of shyness bouncing at their surface.

“Thought we could try something different,” Harry says, pink hues flushing at his cheeks, a hint of stiffness shifting through his body. “You know, for Valentine’s.” He’s quick to top off his little speech with a detached shrug.

“If this is what you do for our first Valentine’s together, I can’t begin to imagine what you do in a long term relationship,” I giggle and, if it weren’t for my being ridiculously hot for this shy boy with a tinge of bold look, I’d outright cackle at the silliness of this scene: Harry attempting to appear nonchalant, as though it’s the same to him if we test out the kinky, negotiating with a pantless, pregnant woman spread atop his bed. 

“Patience is a virtue,” Harry grins and I hook one leg over his head, give him a playful shove for this short demonstration of sass.

“You know what else is a virtue?”

“Appreciating your boyfriend?”

“Getting on with it.”

Harry snorts. Shaking his head, he crawls next to me and leans in to kiss my lips, my jaw. He turns my palms up and places a kiss on each of them, traces his lips over the skin around my wrists, his warm breath tickling.

Then, Harry places my right wrist over the left and ties the rope carefully, gently around them, binding it twice before he lifts my arms over my head to loop the rope through the headboard. 

“Tell me if it hurts or chafes or anything, alright?”

But I can barely nod, already trembling with desire, eager to quench the vicious ache burning low within my stomach. I need him.

His mouth starts over mine, tongue tasting just briefly before he trails away, teasing me, leaving me burning for him. His fingers tickle at my thighs and I feel him as he bends my legs, lifts my dress up slightly. Harry leans between my legs and his breath is scorching. My heart leaps.

His teeth graze lightly over the flesh of one thigh, his tongue tasting, rolling against the freckles peppering my skin. He bites in and I moan.

A bruise grows to darken the messy constellations when Harry’s lips follow their trail up, swapping flesh for something warm and moist and welcoming. He kisses me right there.

Harry doesn’t stop to taste, to try, to feel much this time; instead, his mouth moves eagerly, hungrily, eating till he’s full, until he’s satisfied with my reaction, with my cries and moans and pleading to just please, please, please don’t stop. Please give me more.

I arch hard into my binding, struggling to free myself, fighting to just touch him, trace my fingers through his hair.

He tastes deep within me and I moan, flesh clashing with the rope over and over. I want to grip at his messy dark hair, I need to pull hard and push him deeper inside myself, hold him there until those unforgiving waves surge through me and there’s nothing left except oblivion.

My eyelids flutter open and I watch his head over the baby bump, temples bracketed by naked knees. His jaw is moving quickly, tongue twisting savagely around my clit. I press into the rope again, chest lifting wildly with each erratic pant. 

My nerves are all ablaze, cry after cry erupting from my throat until it’s hoarse, his name endlessly playing on my lips. I bite them raw.

My legs lock behind him to draw Harry in and I thrash against him when it’s over, vision blurring till there’s only stars I see, flickers of light in a never-ending tunnel. I will my eyes to open as I catch my breath, my brain to still as the world slowly rebuilds around me.

Harry grins, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before he draws back to unbuckle his belt, peel off his clothes in a frenzied motion. His knees press into the mattress and he slides down closer to me, nimble fingers rolling my dress up over my growing womb, feeling the wetness sticking in between my thighs with the tips of his fingers, the wetness he’s produced. He grasps at the flesh there, kneading with his hands, eyes dark with want, with unyielding thirst. His thumb ghosts over the bruise he’s left not long ago.

His palms reach under me and he allows himself to feel over my skin, along my thighs, my legs, my calves, locking his hands around my ankles, over my boots. Harry slowly bites his lips, then shifts my feet up and lets them rest atop his shoulders. 

“Tell me if I’m going too rough,” he says, teeth sinking hard into his lips again. Ah, how I wish it was me who did that.

My back arches and my wrists pull under their binding when he slips inside, sliding easily with the warm wetness. His eyes are locked with mine before he dives into the next thrust with lustful fierceness, flesh rubbing against flesh, the particular sound of it echoing inside the dim lit room, ricocheting like a boomerang from the walls and back to us. Harry thrusts again and the boomerang spins, over and over, out of control as the fierce rhythm we’re building increases wildly; he pushes savagely into me, the rope pressing into my skin, leaving red traces where it glides and burns repeatedly.

His hands are at my chest, freeing one breast from my bra to grip at it, to grasp, to hold. I can feel his fingers over my nipple through my dress, hands kneading ruthlessly as he pummels unrestrained. I arch into his touch, beg him to go harder, deeper, faster.

Harry grunts as he obliges, rivers of profanity flooding down his lips. He says he’s close, he can’t hold anymore, he’s got to - got to -

I beg him to keep going. Harder, deeper, faster.

Pleasepleasepleaseplease, a bit more, a bit harder, a little deeper, just keep going faster. I want you, I want you, I want you.

“Ginny, fuck,” Harry growls and, immediately after, he buckles, his grip on my ankles loosening as he pants hard and quick.

“No, Harry - ah, a bit more, I need -”

But before I can plead with him to hold on just a bit longer, just a little bit more, he grips my ankles again to part my legs in a rapid motion, bending low over me. I cry out his name when his mouth is wet and open once again between my thighs, his tongue taking me rapidly all the way up the cliff and violently over it. My mind explodes, my body shakes with every lap of his tongue.

“Harry,” I scream, his name ripping viciously from my throat. Nothing matters anymore, I’m there again and again and again, riding an endless wave, voice hoarse with ecstasy, with the raw pleasure of what he’d done to me. Nothing matters anymore, nothing but him.

His breathing hardens when he stops, places my legs gently back down; though his eyes are now soft, his features gentle as he watches me for a small moment, lips wet and glistening in the low light.

“Sorry I couldn’t hold on longer, I had to…”

“Rather made up for it, didn’t you?” I smirk, wiggle some feeling into my toes.

And as the heat quenches to a gentle kindle, I manage to take in the scene we’ve created over the past hour: my hands tied to the headboard, rope coiled around them, dress bunched up over my rounded waist, booted legs spread wide against white linen, thighs wet and sticky and, in between them, Harry - naked, sweat pooling at his brow, hair tousled like a hurricane and glasses slipping off his nose. His chest still heaving, his lips still wet, light bouncing off his body. Wild wings flutter in my stomach. 

“Happy Valentine’s?” Harry tries on an exhausted sort of smile.

“Mate, you’ve set the bar so high up for Christmas,” I huff and he grins smugly. He’s rather proud of himself, isn’t he?

“My birthday’s closer,” Harry winks and climbs over me to loosen the rope.

“How do you know I won’t just buy you something macho, like a screwdriver?” I shoot him a dirty look and wriggle under him. “And watch it, won’t you? Your dick is in my face.”

“All this talk about equality,” Harry deadpans, fingers working at the knotts he’d made. “Hermione’d be disgusted if she knew how fleeting a notion it is to you.”

I laugh wholeheartedly, head rolling back, eyes tightly shut. “Hermione’d unfriend us both if she knew everything we did tonight.”

“Don’t bet on it. Maybe Ron’s perverted her.”

“Alright, get off me before I chuck the restaurant pizza all over you.”

Harry takes a silly sort of bow and hops off, the rope secure in his palm. I can still feel it rippling over my skin, bouquets of red flowers blooming from the flesh. 

* * *

I hear the distinct roar of a motorcycle’s engine as I draw near to the main building and step away at the last possible moment as it speeds right at me. 

“Are you absolutely mental?” I shake my fist at the leather clad figure riding the bloody thing, left hand clutching at my chest in shock.

Short, loud barks of laughter are his only response. Sirius.

“I’d say I didn’t mean to scare you but it wouldn’t be true,” Sirius says with a grin as he lifts off his helmet and prompts it at his hip, dark hair falling elegantly around his face.

“I suffer from hypertension, you know. And carrying your grandson, might I add,” I fume. Honestly, the cheek of this man.

His eyes flicker to the faint red marks covering my wrists. “Yet she’s alright with bondage.”

I kick at the front wheel of his motorcycle with a frustrated growl, forbidding myself to blush, and quickly walk away, Sirius’ booming laughter following me till I’m deep inside the building. I’m so annoyed I don’t even realise I didn’t ask him why he’s here. Bloody git.

And as if being nearly run over by Sirius isn’t mad enough, I stumble upon a pair of whispering hens in the form of old Professor Moody and Remus Lupin sussuring in each other’s ears, hidden by the shadows of a dark corner.

What’s happening today? And why isn’t Harry gasping in surprise when I recount all of this?

“Remus and Moody were whispering? That’s it?” Harry asks, flat, dark eyebrow raised. 

“Besides Sirius nearly murdering me, yes, that’s it.” My lips are in a thin line, hands on my hips and I’m very tempted to tap my foot as well.

“Ah, he’s probably having a good laugh over it,” Harry waves it off.

“Why are you being flippant about it?”

“Because there’s nothing to get excited over, between my godfather being a regular lunatic and two faculty staff having a private conversation.”

“What if I heard what they said?” I don’t know I ask this, the words just come tumbling from my mouth before I’m able to stop them. Harry’s face changes - but only for a second before it resumes its bored expression. Have I imagined it?

“And did you?” His voice is steady, his expressive green eyes trained on me. I scowl.

“No. No, I didn’t.”

“Then, if it’s alright with you, I’ll go back to being flippant.”

Perhaps he didn’t want it to sound so caustic, so biting. 

Still, the truth is that it does and I can feel that nasty prickling settling behind my eyelids. I turn to leave.

“Fine. Don’t need to be an arse too.”

I pretend I’m asleep when he slips through the bedroom door, my cold back turned to him. 

Morning, however, finds me having breakfast in bed, a dream of pancakes and sliced fruit piled neatly on the tray Harry’s laid over the duvet in a flagrant attempt to apologise for yesterday’s hostilities.

“Gin,” he sighs, seating himself next to me, “I didn’t mean to be the world’s greatest plonker.”

I’m careful to thoroughly chew my bite of strawberry jam pancake before I bestow one look upon him. Hmph. 

“I’m an idiot, you should know this by now,” Harry sighs again, his hand caressing my shoulder briefly before he reconsiders and leaves it lying in his lap. “Forgive me? Please?” 

I swallow the food and wash it down with a glass of orange juice. “I’ll think on it,” I shrug and get out of bed, leaving Harry there.

And it’s probably less because his words still slightly sting and more out of the need to offer myself time to think, to dissect if there’s really something he’s conveniently not telling me or if it’s all in my head, if I’m making this a bigger issue than it is. And be that as it may, somehow I can’t shake off the thought: how much of what’s happening do I really understand?

* * *

I coerce Hermione to skip studying in favour of what could quite possibly become a sugar coma on a Friday afternoon. My plan is to soften her with sweets until it’s safe to lay down all my questions and not come out of this looking like a mad woman.

“Where are we going again?” Hermione asks, her eyes tracing longingly over the library as we bustle our way out of campus, past the packs of students.

“A small drop in place on Kensington Park Road called the Biscuiteers.”

“The Biscuiteers?” She quirks an eyebrow, bemused.

“It’s fun, promise. It’s an icing-café, actually - it means you get to ice the biscuits you buy,” I grin, already feeling the sugar rush quake through me. “Ouch! Baby kicked,” I explain, gripping at my side. Apparently my son’s excited about biscuits too.

We hurry to claim the only table inside the small café and take to our freshly baked biscuits with a zeal worthy of any Michelin star chef, tongues darting out in concentration and brows furrowed as we bend over the round, white metal table.

“So, how’s life with my brother?” I ask while admiring the first results of my labour, fighting the impulse to sink my teeth into the heart shaped sweet before the icing’s even settled.

Hermione smiles over her own biscuit, icing tube in one hand as she calculates her next step within this culinary adventure. “Surprisingly wonderful.”

I snort. 

“I deeply appreciate the use of ‘surprising’.”

“It was a very positive ‘surprising’. I’ve never lived with a boy,” Hermione brandishes the icing tube at me as she hurries to defend my brother’s honour. Flecks of ice land on my face and I lick them unabashedly. 

“Are you telling me he’s able to tidy up after himself?”

“So far, so good,” she says with a grin.

“Or,” I drawl, inspecting another freshly iced biscuit, “perhaps the sex is good enough to turn a blind eye?”

The tube clatters loudly to the ground.

“Ginny!” Hermione quickly glances over her shoulder to ensure I’ve not been heard. Prude.

“Oh, stop it,” I scold and bend down to retrieve the icing tube, the baby deciding it’s a brilliant time to roll over my bladder. “I’m a pregnant woman, I’ve been told you’re not supposed to feel shame from here on. Which means, of course, that I can be an old harpy and croak whatever I want.”

“Well,” Hermione blushes lightly before she adds, “it’s good.”

“Just good?” Good grief, no wonder she agreed to ice biscuits with me than go home to Ron. 

Hermione scowls, throws a small piece of biscuit at me and I grin. “No, not just good, of course! It’s brilliant, actually.”

“Aw, sweet, you’re blushing.”

“Oh, drop the old lady act.” Hermione shuffles her feet irritably under the table, frowning deeply. “You’d be blushing too if I’d ask you about Harry.”

I simply shrug. “I don’t hear you asking.”

“Alright, then. How is sex with harry?” She crosses her hands over her chest, rising to the occasion with minimum embarrassment.

“He tied my hands last time,” I say before I can stop myself. Oops?

Profound silence stretches between us, Hermione simply blinking vaguely, her gaze unfocused as though there’s something growing just out of her reach.

“You’re actually horrified, aren’t you?”

“And a little turned on, yes. Can’t quite decide yet,” she shakes her head and heaps of bushy hair fall gently over her cheeks.

I sigh dejectedly. “If you do use bondage, I’m afraid my brother might ask you to marry him straight after.”

“Then it’s probably not quite terrible an idea.” 

I’m a bit startled to notice she’s blushing as she says this.

“Ugh. That serious, huh?”

Hermione quickly shakes her head, a definite smile tickling at the corners of her lips. “Ah, probably too soon to tell, isn’t it? Although I do get those silly flutters whenever I see him and yes, I am ashamed to admit that I melt a little when he smiles that stupid smile of his.”

“I’m trying to forget that we’re discussing Ron so I can be a good friend and gush over you being in love,” I admit with a grimace.

She slumps her head on the table, biscuits shoved aside with her elbow, and moans, “I guess I am in love. Even though the timing could not have been worse! I have exams and the thesis and - and I need to graduate!”

Hermione sounds a little disturbed and very close to tears, thus I rush to offer her my wise, calming advice. “Okay, first you need to chill. So what if you have all those things to do? He can hold your hand while you study.”

“But that would be very distracting,” Hermione pouts.

“Alright,” I wince, “then he can make sweet, passionate love to you every night, after you’re done studying.”

“That would be...a nice distraction.” Indeed her tonus seems to have improved, her voice lighter, hopeful even. Yuck. 

“See? There's no good or bad time to fall in love. Or, apparently, to have a baby. It’s the people in the relationship who make it work. However speaking of school, if you know Harry from way back when, you must also know Lupin, right?”

Maybe I’m seeing only what I want to see, imagining the faint discomfort that has passed over her features in a heartbeat. 

“I’ve heard about him, yes. This, however, is the first time we meet. Why?”

“Honestly? I don’t know, I just get this weird feeling that maybe Harry’s skipping over particular facts or certain parts of his life completely,” I admit, a feeling of unease boiling inside my chest. Hermione places her soft hand over mine, big brown eyes apologetic.

“He’s never talked much about his past, Harry. Even as a child, he’d rarely mention his parents,” she pauses, gaze searching for those sunlit days they’ve shared as children. “But he would always lit up with this overbounding joy whenever Sirius would mention them.” 

My voice comes out strangled with the next question. “How about Teddy? Harry’s his godfather…”

“Oh, yeah, that happened when we were in highschool. Harry was absolutely delighted,” Hermione grins and I can vividly picture a younger Harry, mop of jet black hair and sparkling green eyes, that dimple in his cheek forming when he’s happy; a teenage Harry feeling like he belongs. “He went to Oxford to visit the Lupins every other weekend - it’s where they lived until Remus received a teaching scholarship in America and they had to move.”

“And Sirius? Harry told me his parents, Sirius, and Lupin were proper mates.”

“Yeah, they had their group. Reckon things got a bit strained after they died. Sirius stayed in London, of course, took care of Harry, but Remus moved away soon after. They still kept in touch, mind - Harry sometimes mentioned Remus when we were kids, but it’s probably difficult to return to something you were used to when everything’s changed, isn’t it?”

“Yeah…,” I sigh, close my eyes. “I just wish he’d be more open with me about all this.”

Hermione’s hand is still over mine and she squeezes it gently, her smile kind. “He’ll get there. He’s been running away from his past all his life, unaware that it would do him good to pause and think about it. Make his peace, you know?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it does sound like the healthier option,” I chuckle weakly, chin dipped towards my chest, something rough and stiff swirling inside.

“He’s been making such good progress since he’s met you, Ginny. He seems lighter somehow, happier.” 

My heart leaps violently. There are no more words to speak, just thoughts, musings, heavy and muddy twisting in my mind. 

We take our biscuits and make our way to the counter to pay. Unfortunately, we have to walk past quite a phenomenal range of chocolates, cakes and sweet treats to do so.

My arms are filled with boxes of biscuits and chocolate-y gifts for Teddy’s visit this weekend. And for Harry, as a sign of peace and a request for cuddles tonight.

* * *

Teddy’s stay with us is a blur of giggles, fun, and food shared between the three of us. As he’s recently started karate training, mornings are spent in the living room, Teddy talking Harry through his warm up and routine, the both of them passionately punching and kicking air; Teddy’s unusual blue locks falling over his face to his own outrage, Harry’s rumpled hair sticking out alarmingly by the end.

I watch them from the sofa, coffee warming my palms as I pretend to work on the thesis. I’d take the image playing out before me over anything.

On Saturday evening we go sightseeing, Teddy jumping excitedly on the steps of a hop on-hop off bus, pointing everywhere as Harry holds his hand and explains everything with a patient smile on his lips. He’s so good with him, I melt despite the biting cold. 

We hop off by the river Thames, a crowd of leather clad people catching Teddy’s eye. 

“They look like Mum’s friends,” he grins and tugs Harry to them.

Apparently we’ve hoped off in the middle of a garage sale and Teddy couldn’t have been more delighted. He gushes over each item, recounting stories of his travel in America as he holds both mine and Harry’s hand, jumping excitedly on the balls of his feet. Finally, his eyes fix on an acoustic guitar, wooden and slightly bent, and his bottom lip begins to quiver.

“Do you like it, Ted?” Harry asks gently, crouching down in front of his godson. Teddy doesn’t answer.

“It’s alright, Ted. Just tell me if you like it,” Harry smiles kindly, nodding encouragingly at the little boy.

“Yeah,” Teddy barely whispers and Harry grins, catching Teddy’s button nose between his index and middle finger.

“We’ll have the guitar,” Harry tells a particularly pierced man sitting cross-legged on the ground and the purchase is made swiftly. 

Teddy’s close to tears when we leave and I hug him tightly. 

That evening, the two of them prepare pasta and we have a good laugh over weird shows on the telly and my very off attempts at playing a guitar.

I kiss Harry deeply before we sleep.

“Mhm, what did I do to deserve this?”

“Being a good dad,” I smile against his lips and kiss him once again.

* * *

It’s only Tonks that arrives to pick Teddy up on Sunday afternoon, shocking pink hair, steel piercings and big grin.

“How’s my little cookie monster?” she queries as she steps inside, gives me a warm hug.

“Offering a private concert for Harry’s benefit,” I grin, motioning for her to follow me. 

“Oh, dear. Teddy sings?”

“Not quite. More like completely embracing the fact that he has his own guitar,” I nod matter of factly and Tonks watches me highly amused. 

“Mum,” Teddy squeaks as soon as he hears his mother walk in. “Look what Harry’s got me!”

He trips over his feet in his enthusiasm to show Tonks his new pride and joy, Harry snaking a hand around his middle to break the fall. 

“Easy, mate.”

“Mum, wanna hear what Dad said? He told me I could come to one of his classes with him and do you think he’ll be very excited if I bring the guitar too?” Teddy looks up at his mother eagerly as she tousles his hair and winks at him, her smiling face reflected in her son’s big, kind eyes.

“He’ll be thrilled, love.”

Secretly, I hope it’ll be our Political History class just to see Hermione’s face when she realises she’s deprived of three entire hours of acquiring new knowledge.

We wave them off with promises to visit soon and I feel my heart swell as I watch the two of them walk away, hands held tight and wild hair flying about. I can hear Tonks’ piercings clink as she laughs at something Teddy says before they’re out of sight.

“Why don’t we hang out with the Lupins more often?” I lean into Harry as he closes the door, arms circling his middle. “I can give up a thesis writing night for Teddy and Tonks anytime.”

“And Remus?” His fingers lightly tickle at my sides and he lets his lips rest at the top of my head.

“Him too, if he stops with that annoying habit he has of appearing out of nowhere and scaring me to death. Or if he promises to not make us read a full library by next week,” I drawl and Harry laughs.

“Must be some new American trick he’s picked up.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not fun. Still - why don’t we see them more often? I’m great with Teddy, you saw that,” I mumble, nuzzle his jaw as he walks us over to the sofa.

“Remus had to settle in, tight schedule, new job and all. But we can invite them over whenever you like,” he adds distractedly, fingers tracing through my hair, one arm around me, palm resting over my belly. I shift a bit to look at him.

“Sirius doesn’t need an invitation, so how come they do?”

“You don’t want to give Tonks that kind of freedom,” Harry laughs and runs his fingers over my shoulders, starts applying soft pressure, kneading lightly till I’m butter in his hands. Whatever I was about to ask, it can definitely wait.


	15. secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did promise fluff and cuddles but i didn't say anything about answers so *shrugs*

_ The world believed him dead and we all sighed in relief more than twenty years ago when news of one of the world’s most wanted criminals' curious demise was broadcast on every channel. However, it may very well seem like we’ve sighed a bit too early as sightings have rather grown in numbers lately. No official comment from law enforcement yet - _

This country is taxing us nearly half of what we make and then tells us nobody’s been able to catch a lunatic on the run for over twenty years. Not that I currently make anything - except children, it seems. 

I sigh and shut the telly.

First draft of the thesis is due in April and that’s...next month. Wow, it’s even more terrifying when I attach an actual timeline to the deadline.

**Ginny:** any chance i might find you at the library? i’m desperate and need someone to moan to while i attempt to finish the you-know-what

**Hermione:** Your thesis? And yes, I’ve been here since early this morning, actually. Can’t believe they only open at 8! With exams fast approaching! It’s ridiculous.

**Ginny:** of course you were :) i’ll be there in a tick

I wrap my Mum’s hand-knit scarf around me, slip on the warm checkered parka - a faithful companion for more years than I can count, dip one of Harry’s beanies over my forehead and shove my feet into a pair of boots, book tote and laptop in tow. 

It’s March and it’s still windy and sometimes I wonder how’d so much happen in so little time? It was only September when I decided to be cool and pop into the local pub for a pint, all clueless and ready to fight whoever’s in charge of hot water in this place.

It was only September and the wind was slashing over my face just like it does today, hair flying all over in splashes of red, freckles clustering together in the cold air. 

Only September and look how far we’ve come, how much we’ve grown, how our love transformed us. Until next time became always - today, tomorrow, every day. From the moment I let my heavy lids flutter open and see you warm and light and happy next to me to the moment you kiss me goodnight, lips whispering I love you over mine.

And I love you, too, I love you, I love you, I love. 

Ask me to jump over that cliff with you and I’ll say yes. I’ll say yes because we’re ready, I’m ready, and I never want to spend my life with anyone else but you. Let me be yours…

* * *

We cook together some evenings, one of the small rituals we’ve grown into. We dance around each other in the kitchen, a never ending series of do this, pass that, quick, before it boils. And then dinner’s ready and the smells wafting through the kitchen remind me of home; they tickle my soul and warm my heart and then, with a jolt, I realise: this is home. This is my home.

“I’ve been thinking,” Harry starts, a shadow of a smile playing at his lips as he bends to retrieve a pot of roast potatoes and vegetables from the oven.

Teeth sink into bottom lip as I stretch to grab the plates, forks, knives. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs and slips off the oven mits, turns to face me with those deep, striking green eyes. “How do you - er, how do you feel about marriage? Broadly speaking?”

Huh. Hello, how are you, how’s your day, I love you.

“I’m...looking forward to it?” I say and it comes out more as a question than I intended, forks and knives dangling lamely in my hands. “Why? Are you against it?”

Woah. Straight to the point. Bravo, me.

Harry’s tense, then visibly relaxing, then tense again under my smooth interrogation. I drop the cutlery on the counter and take his hand, squeeze gently, half afraid of what he’s about to say.

“I’m not,” he blows out the air in his lungs and finally dips his chin to look at me, palms running up and down my shoulders, comforting. “I never thought it would be possible for me, but now I feel that it is and I’m definitely not. Not against it, not with you. But Ginny -”

He closes his eyes for a moment and my heart seems to have floated up my throat, threatening to roll violently down my tongue. My eyes are wide as I stare at him, waiting, terrified, trembling. Then his eyelids flutter open and I’m done.

“How would you feel about me proposing before we finish, before we get our diplomas? How would you feel about a very small wedding before the chaos unfolds and we’re dealing with exams and finishing and having the baby? While - ah, while we still have a chance.”

There’s that shy smile blooming over his face again and I’d like nothing more than to kiss it and hold him and tell him how he’s made me the happiest woman alive.

“Not feeling very confident, actually,” I say and pause. “I have a ridiculously large family, you know. I don’t see any small wedding happening with that lot trundling after us,” I grin, enjoying the rollercoaster of emotions playing over Harry’s face.

But then he laughs loudly and kisses me deeply again and again and again, heart drumming in my ears and love flooding through my veins. Dinner turns cold tonight, but we are blissfully unaware; too busy living, too busy loving, too busy being happy.

\---

Breaks in my daily study and writing programme have been rudely inserted by Harry ever since the New Year’s incident and my festering diagnosis. However, when said breaks arrive in the form of Sunday in bed, I can’t be expected to complain, right?

“You mean there are more superhero movies?” I raise my rumpled head to look at a yawning Harry, my arms spread over his chest, basking in his warmth. “And here I was thinking you’ve made us sit through all of them.”

“Superheroes are cool,” Harry smiles, nuzzles the crown of my head and wraps me closer to him. “‘Sides, we’re having a baby boy. What do you think he’ll like?”

“Well that’s a bit presumptuous of you, innit? How do you know he won’t choose Barbie dolls or whatever kids like these days over Batman, eh?”

“Yeah, Barbie is cool too, but does she have her own movie?”

“If she does, will you watch it with me?”

“Digging my own grave, then,” Harry laughs and pulls the laptop closer with his foot. He then shoves his toes underneath the lid and flips it open, stomps on the power button with a slight crease of concentration on his brow, tip of his tongue darting lightly over his lips. 

“Learned some new tricks, have we?”

“I want to be able to show my son how to live his best life. Here,” Harry bends forward to wrap the blanket over my shoulders, raises the pillow under my head. “Alright there?”

I draw his mouth over mine before I respond, “The absolute best.”

We do end up watching yet another superhero movie because Harry James Potter is a smooth talker when he wants to be. We order banana pancakes and pizza, Chinese and the most incredible garlic bread I’ve ever had. Don’t tell Mum.

“Never actually thought we’d use it when you bought it on a whim, but I have to say we’ve maximized the hell out of this food tray,” I note between two bites of leftover pancakes from this morning. Harry’s grinning head pops from the loo in a sort of ‘told you so’ nod and I shrug - who could’ve foretold I’d be a stay in bed all day type of girl?

Back home, I always needed to get out. The house, as much as I love it and as much as I’d never trade it for anything else, felt small and crowded at times, a rumble of voices, a clash of personalities at every corner. I would go for a run, I would go wandering into the other villages, I would travel through Devon on my bicycle, Dean right after me.

Back home, I always needed an escape.

But here, with Harry, running away is the last thing I want to do. I stretch and nestle into his side when he returns to bed, lips kissing up his neck and over his jaw until he rolls over me and peppers little kisses on my face, my cheeks, my nose and I giggle, batting him away.

“Come here, you,” he laughs and wraps his arms around me, the rugged hairs in his beard grazing the exposed patch of skin on my chest. I wriggle under him, laughing, trying to roll on my stomach.

“Not so fast,” Harry chuckles and shifts so his hands are under me, body between my legs. He takes his grinning mouth down to my belly, to our son, and nudges my shirt up with his nose, leaning down to kiss and feel the life growing inside. His smiling face rests over the bump, wild black hair sticking upwards, curling over my freckled skin, his hands coming to surround it. My heart leaps.

Harry’s eyes pop open, a dazzling grin splitting his face as he cries in delight, “Gin -

“I - yes, I felt it too. He kicked, our son kicked!”

“Our son kicked, he’s there, I think -”

“He’s definitely there, Harry, he can hear us! Talk to him,” I urge him, arms flailing all over because my son kicked and he’s there and he’s alive and well and we’re his deliriously happy parents.

“Hello, baby,” Harry whispers over my belly and quickly looks back up at me. I nod, encouraging him to go on, heart beating madly in my chest. “I’m your dad. Your mummy’s here, too,” he adds with a smile and grips for my hand, twining our fingers tightly.

And if I weren’t already in bed, hearing him call me a mother and himself a father would’ve floored me. As I am, it simply leaves me breathless, soft, craving for more. Don’t ever stop, Harry. You’re my light, my love, my home.

“I can’t wait to meet you,” Harry carries on, forehead glued to my stomach, sitting as close as he can to his son. “Promise we’ll figure everything out before you arrive and that we’ll keep you safe, alright?”

My palm flies to his hair, my fingers tracing through it, my soul struggling to capture everything, to remember this moment forever. It’s one of those rare, serene moments you carry with you all your life, floating through you to your very core, to your lifeline. It’s one of those moments that make you and define you and set the course of your life. It’s magic.

“I love you,” I tell the both of them, my two boys. And nothing else matters.

* * *

“Oh, bugger off,” I curse, rushing to dry my laptop before it’s completely drenched in tea. 

Thought I could pull off writing with this thing on my lap and a cup of tea in my hand but it’s painfully obvious that I cannot. 

Grace, it can be noticed, is not my virtue.

I allow the poor thing to dry and select to spend the time with a healthy roaming of the fridge, ever hungry since there’s an insatiable little bean inside of me. I am, though, most disappointed when I open the door only to stare into a vast nothingness.

No food, huh. And nothing inside the pantry and cupboards either, except more tea, which isn’t my favourite right now.

Funnily, I can always measure the amount of time that’s passed between Sirius’ visits by the quantity of food we have left. Right now, I’d say he hasn’t dropped by unexpected (or very much expected and missed, really) for a rather long time - a month, maybe?

It does say a lot about me, observing a man’s absence only because I’m hungry, but technicalities aside, I hope he’s alright. Someone’s got to teach my son how to be cool without even trying and sadly that’s not going to be me.

I make a mental note to ask Harry about him and return to the article I’ve been writing, entirely unsatisfied. 

And as though I’ve summoned him, Sirius does amble through the front door only a couple of days later, singing something that very much resembles a Christmas carol in our hallway.

I shake my head, grinning, and run to him.

“Where have you been? You’ve missed your grandson kicking and - bloody hell! Sirius, you’re injured!”

I stare at him in horror, slowly taking in the sight of him, the limping leg and arm, the violet splatter on his face. I falter, knees wobbling beneath me.

Sirius grins tiredly and it’s visible how much it hurts to do it. His eyes move from me, gripping at the door frame to keep my balance, to Harry, standing still next to me, hands in his pockets, stony expression on his face. There’s a storm inside his chest, a raging, boiling storm and I can see it.

“Bit of a scuffle at work, nevermind that. Tell me about the kicking,” he has the audacity to say, waving his uninjured hand in a lazy gesture.

I study him for a long moment, long enough for thoughts to start forming and words to string together. Then I turn to Harry. “I can guarantee that it’ll be me who does the kicking if someone doesn’t explain right now. Oh, and I know you know, Harry James Potter. I could’ve smelled the guilt off you all the way from the Burrow if your side glance hadn’t already given you away.”

Sirius’ bark like laughter booms, ricocheting from the walls. “I see all this time spent with old Alastor Moody’s been somewhat of a waste.”

Harry looks incensed, he glares at Sirius. 

“Oi, I’m not the one strutting in with two limping limbs and half his face smashed.”

“Heard it gives you a boost with the ladies,” Sirius shrugs, beaten face still grinning and he tries to limp past us.

If he crashes on the sofa like nothing’s happened, I’ll slap him, I swear.

“I’m one minute away from stepping on your foot,” I hear myself telling Sirius as he struggles to grip the other side of the door frame, face scrunched in pain.

“Ginny, calm -”

But I push Harry’s hand away from my shoulder and shift closer to Sirius, my eyes boring into his steely gray ones. I let my foot hover over his cast.

“Start talking. Either of you, I’m not picky.”

“I’m an MI5 agent,” Sirius deadpans and it takes me more than a moment to realise he’s not joking. I blink stupidly, foot still aloft.

“So you’re not just filthy rich?”

“That’s simply a dire consequence of not being able to choose your family at birth,” he drawls, runs a hand through his hair and sighs. 

“So you have a dangerous job,” I nod and step back, starting to finally understand.

“At times, yes.”

My head slowly turns towards Harry again as I speak, “And no doubt it’s what you plan on pursuing too, isn’t it?”

He stays frozen in place, guilty and silent and breaking my heart.

Harry nods weakly, something different in his big green eyes but I won’t stop. Not now, not when all the questions I’ve wanted to ask for months come flooding through my mind, taking shape before my eyes. I can touch them if I raise my hand, feel the rage, the fear shivering with them.

I close my eyes tightly shut before I whisper softly; it’s the calm before the storm, the eerie silence that calls forth the tempest.

“Were you ever going to tell me? Or should I expect to find out after you’ve been missing for a month and you come back looking like a punching bag?”

“Look, I - let’s sit down, alright?” Harry wavers, desperate.

I steel myself for this - it has to happen, it must happen. If we ever want to build something together, if we ever had the slimmest, wildest chance to be something together.

It must.

I lean against the wall, glance like stone glued to his face. I take a breath, fill my lungs hungrily with air, and talk.

“Harry, think thoroughly before you answer my next question. Think carefully, painstakingly careful, because I promise that if I have even the smallest inkling that you’re dealing with half truths again or hiding something or god knows what you’ve been doing until now, everything we’ve talked about earlier - about marriage and a family and us, Harry, us - it will mean absolutely nothing. I’ll pack my bags and be out of here faster than you can come up with lies or find new ways to keep me at arm’s length, alright?” Tears sting around my eyes, my chest heaves in heartache. “Do you understand?”

“Ginny, I -”

“Do you understand, Harry?”

He balls his hands into fists, his lips quivering resignedly. He nods. “Yes.”

“Alright,” I follow and it comes out as a sob, ripped from deep inside my chest. “How did your parents die?”

Have you ever had an out of body experience? Have you ever felt like your spirit’s floating from your body and you can see yourself just standing there, terrified and shaking and wondering what’s about to happen next.

And as most turning points in my life, there’s a song playing at the back of my head, like a soundtrack in a movie I’ve been trapped in my whole life. This time, it’s Madonna telling me that ‘something’s comin’ over me,’ that ‘my baby’s got a secret.’ Strangely, his lips move but I can’t hear him over the music rushing through my brain, over the fear in my heart. What did he say? What did Harry say?

Oh, that’s right. I can hear the words now, they come crashing through.

“They were murdered.”


	16. there's a light still shining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to gryffindormischief, who worked her magic on this chapter! and to you, my friends, my dear, darling friends, for encouraging me and giving me my motivation back <3

My world spinned mercilessly for a timeless moment and then, just as violently, it stopped. 

“You said they died…”

Sirius just laughs derisively, anger and sadness mixing with regret deep in his eyes. “They did, but with some help.”

“Sirius, what the hell?” Harry turns to him abruptly, angrily. “Why are you here?”

“Things happened,” Sirius replies shortly, his words clipped.

“Why not call me?”

“So I wouldn’t find out, huh?” I interrupt, tone rising an octave, hands protectively on my stomach.

Harry stares back at me, pained. 

“No, ah - I’ll tell you everything, what happened, what’s happening, everything.”

“Turn off your phones first,” Sirius instructs, face devoid of all emotion, as though there can be no arguing, no negotiating, as though he’d issued a command. It’s odd how in such moments his bloodline breaks through the surface, a man giving orders as easy as he wears his favourite coat. 

But that’s not enough to stop me.

“What?” I say, gaze switching from Harry to his godfather.

“Turn off your phones,” Sirius barks again, his voice barely a whisper but somehow carrying the same force it did before. “We’re being followed, listened to, watched. That’s why I came here. The fucking bastard’s back.”

I blink.

“Who?”

“Wait,” Harry jolts to his feet, a hand raised up in my direction.

“Mate, I’ve waited quite enough and -”

“Not to be completely ungentlemanly,” Sirius drawls as he tries to lift up from the sofa, fails, then stiffles a moan, “but shut up a bit, yeah? It’s not safe.”

Silently, Harry collects our phones and turns them off. Then, just as meticulously, he walks over to the drapes, shuts them forcefully and returns to his seat near me. It all seems rather surreal. 

He takes a deep breath before he speaks, green eyes closed and brow furrowed. 

“I was one year old when Lily and James Potter, my parents, were murdered by Tom Riddle.”

“The mass murderer? But he disappeared a long time ago - oh!” I cover my mouth with the back of my palm and it finally clicks. He’s the one on the news, he’s back!

“I’ve been repeating this so much for the past twenty years my tongue will fall off if I say it again,” Sirius groans, rolling his eyes a bit and I must confess I’m quite impressed by his ability to look haughty when he’s obviously in a great amount of pain. “Either way,” he carries on, bored, “he never disappeared. The fucker went underground, building an army while the Government remains as oblivious as ever, as unaware as ever of the dung heaping right under its nose.”

“But why? Why Lily and James?”

“He wasn’t after them that night,” Harry sighs dejectedly and I’m absolutely certain I know that face - the face of self induced guilt. Harry pauses, looks at his feet, bottom lip quivering slightly.

“He was looking for me.”

And there it is.

“A one year old?” I interject, appalled. 

“Did I mention he’s a twisted son of a bitch?” Sirius grins, then winces in pain.

“He’s mad, absolutely mad.”

“He’s the type of bloke that gets wind of a prophecy and starts stabbing people left and right,” he adds to Harry’s conclusion and I swallow hard. Did I really ever complain that life was too easy?

“Which is really the short version of this: Riddle was already torturing people, kidnapping and murdering and sending footage of his crimes to journalists and politicians around Britain before the Government finally acknowledged the threat that he posed and decreed a state of alert,” Harry starts and this time he looks directly at me, gaze unwavering. “But it was too late, his madness was unstoppable and his ego was being fed daily - he was on every news channel, every newspaper, thriving in his knowledge that he couldn’t be caught even as he made it very easy for the police to find him. He’d film himself torturing a person for as many days as they lasted and then send the tape out and still nobody knew where he operated from. And then he heard the prophecy.”

A cold, icy shiver runs down my spine.

“A prophecy about you?”

Sirius snarls, disgust heavy on his beaten face. 

“No, a load of fuckery about a child coming after the dark lord. Oh yeah, that’s right, he styled himself a new name: Voldemort, the Dark Lord. That one rippled right through the crazys.”

Harry shakes his head, his eyes searching for the past and I want to reach out and hold his hand. But somehow I can’t, somehow I’m rooted into place, unable to move or speak or process what I’m hearing. Oh, Harry...

“My parents, they were involved in this case. They were on the same task force and they’d found him and fought him, but in the end he escaped. Somehow Riddle convinced himself that if a child was to be his demise, then it should be their child. So...he went to their house.”

“They were in hiding, it was supposed to be safe, I -”

“Someone gave their hiding place away,” Harry cuts him off, words spoken through his teeth, knuckles white against his knees. “It was easy for Riddle to show up, bang on their door and shoot both of them. They were unarmed,” he pauses, nails scraping at the rough material in his jeans. “My Dad, he - my Dad gave up his life so Mum and I could escape, but she didn’t. She knew that more lives would be taken if Riddle lives...so she fought him. A bullet went through her heart but the damage she’d done to him left Riddle permanently disabled. His friends got him before anyone else could. Still, my parents were already dead. I survived.”

He says all this without stopping, without breathing, too afraid he’d never be able to continue if he did, too broken by what had happened. My heart twists inside my chest. 

“The idiots leading this country played it as a great victory, which, of course, made Riddle sound like a right martyr to every nutjob in England. He gained a solid following, built the ranks of his army in peace and quiet after that,” Sirius goes on to explain, nurses his bloodied fist, unimpressed by the state he’s in.

“But - but you’re MI5,” I blurt out, voice shaking. “Can’t you do anything?”

“Ha,” Sirius barks one of his short, deep kind of laughs. “I didn’t quit my job after that so I could be in the loop when new information surfaced, not because I think they’re a capable lot. For that we founded the Order, in Lily and James’ memory.”

“I feel like I’ve only been asking one word questions, but ‘the Order’?”

“The Order of the Phoenix,” Harry nods. “It’s an underground organisation of sorts.”

I can feel my eyebrows immediately shooting up.

“A secret organisation’s taking down a lunatic that keeps eluding all other forces?”

“That’s the main idea, yeah. We have people everywhere,” Sirius grins, his mouth a little bloody, making him seem highly deranged.

“Alright, it sounds super serious. What’s your role in this?”

I phrase the question for the both of them, but mostly it’s pointed at Harry and he knows it.

“Stay still, for now,” Harry replies, gaze fixed reproachfully on Sirius. “I haven’t been on any missions and there are other people gathering intel, people not connected to the case.”

I let out a long breath of air, unaware I’ve been holding it in for so long.

“People like Remus? Is that the real reason he went to the States?”

“Or your brother, yeah,” Sirius shrugs casually and it lands like a slap in the face.

“Fucking what now?”

Harry’s face is in his hands as he groans loudly. “I was getting to that. Ron’s in the Order now, yes.”

“Explain,” I glower, eyes throwing daggers. I can’t believe it, argh. 

“He found out from Hermione and volunteered to help. I was against it, I swear! I would never put your family in danger,” Harry hurries to excuse himself but I’m very ready to chew on someone’s head right now. My brother’s in a secret club?!

Sirius rolls his eyes, points a long finger towards Harry. “I wasn’t. He’s a nifty new addition: unrelated to the case and easy to trust.”

Well, he does have a point. Ron’s always been helpful and pleasant with that easy way he has of making light of terrible situations. He’s always been a pillar in our house, the one that stuck with Mum and Dad...

“Are you very mad at me for getting your family involved?” Harry asks timidly, watching me with those big green eyes, two wells drilled into his soul. Our fingers twine over the softness of the cushions.

“No, I’m actually pissed that Ron found out before I did. Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“Look, Ginny, I - ah, the truth is I’d be a hypocrite if I only said I didn’t want to endanger you.” He turns his back to Sirius completely, his attention on me now like we’re alone, like there’s us, only us left in this world. “Because half the time I’m scared out of my wits that something will happen to you and our son, and the other half...The other half I feel like I’m out of my mind thinking you’ll leave me once you’ll find out how complicated this all is.”

I see the battle roiling inside him. I see it and I want to silence it so badly, drizzle balm over the bruises on his soul, help him heal.

Instead, I respond sternly, “Yeah, well, it is terribly complicated.” 

“See, I -” Harry starts, his face one of a man who’d been punched heavily in the stomach. But I won’t let him. It’s time he heard me loud and clear.

“But you’ll have to let me make this decision for myself. If I leave or not, if I think it’s too dangerous for me, if I want to share this with you. Because if you would’ve been honest from the start, I could’ve told you that I’m not leaving, that I’m very much staying and I want to help kick that bloody plonker’s arse.”

Sirius and Harry’s voices mix to shriek “Out of the question.”

Fucking what now? Mate, are you taking the mickey here?

“What?! Why? If Ron’s good enough -”

“You’re a seven months pregnant woman, not really the epitome of inconspicuousness, love,” Sirius clarifies with an air of great patience. “No, you and Harry will have no part in this.”

And it’s Harry’s turn to be miffed. Doesn’t feel too bloody good, does it?

“Wait, that’s not,” he sputters but Sirius barks back fiercely.

“That’s what I said, you will have absolutely no part in this. You will graduate, have your baby and raise your child safely far away from here until all this is over. I will not fucking lose you as well.”

“But my studies and training -”

“You can join the force after.”

“Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually agree with Sirius. Our son needs his father, Harry.” I squeeze his hand tightly, hoping he’ll understand, hoping he’ll forget about this nightmare and grow old with me. 

“I feel like I’m being cornered.”

I snort. “You are and serves you right for not telling me. Stupid hero complex,” I mutter, his hand still safely in mine.

“What? I don’t have a hero complex!”

“And I don’t look like Mulciber’s punching bag,” Sirius cackles and I can swear Harry’s about to stick his tongue out at him. But then Sirius moans loudly, gripping at his sides and the thought crashes simultaneously through us: he needs help, immediately.

“Oh, yes, fuck, I forgot,” Harry curses and jumps up. “Let’s take you to the loo and have a look.”

As Harry helps Sirius into the bathroom, my mind goes over every piece of information I’ve been given tonight. I can’t stop it, it twists and turns and repeats every word, burning it inside my skull. Riddle, Voldemort, Lily and James Potter. Mulciber?

“Mulciber,” I whisper without intending to and Harry turns his head to me, crouching before Sirius.

“Death Eater - Riddle’s fanclub Sirius mentioned.”

“They do have a knack for the dramatic, don’t they?” I force myself to smile, stomach churning viciously as Harry wipes the blood away and allows the bandages to run gently between his fingers before he knots them here and there.

“Yeah, you could say that,” he laughs but all I can hear is my own heart beating frantically, my own voice screaming in my mind that Harry might come home like that one day, that it could be his blood that’s wiped, his blood staining the tiles, pooling on the bathroom floor.

My world turns black and I collapse.

* * *

“Hello,” Harry smiles as he brushes the hair away from my face, “how are you feeling?”

I shift, my body stiff under the covers. Somehow it’s already morning.

“Alright, I guess. Like I’ve slept a million years.”

“Stomach alright?”

My palms fly over it and rub the roundness of my belly, fingers searching for the subtle signs of life growing inside. I feel my baby move, imagine him yawning after a good sleep, shock of raven black hair as mussed as his father’s.

“Yeah, we’re good,” I smile back at him and lift slightly, feeling his lips brush over the cracks and rough edges of mine. 

“Good,” Harry whispers against my mouth and kisses me again, long and lingering, before he moves away. “I’ll make breakfast and then dash to campus for a bit. You’ll be alright with Sirius, yeah?”

“I’ll manage,” I say with a grin, gaze following him as he blows a kiss, playful, and slips out of the bedroom. 

I shiver, my body accustomed to his warmth. Never stop coming back to me, Harry.

* * *

Over the following two weeks, Sirius behaves so much like a doting grandmother, cooking, spoiling me, I have to constantly remind him he’s an invalid whilst I’m not. This always offends him.

“I can walk just fine, thanks,” he sniffs dignified, hobbling about the house.

But where Sirius’ help appears into my life like a true miracle is, strangely, in the academic area.

“Never knew you’re academically gifted, Sirius,” I exclaim as my eyes scan over the magic he’d worked on my thesis. “It actually reads nicely now, thank you!”

He simply shrugs lazily, lounging on a kitchen chair until he tilts it in an elegant kind of balance. “You’re smart and fun, not to mention you could’ve competed against Harry’s mum with the sharp wit you have. You just forgot to be all these things as you wrote.”

I smile at him, a wide, toothy, genuine smile. “Thanks, Sirius.”

He shrugs again, face disappearing behind his phone.

Still smiling, I return to my thesis and miraculously submit the first draft. I’m so happy I might cry.

Later, Tonk and Remus would come over to see (and abuse) Sirius and I would laugh so much my insides start to hurt, laugh until it would become difficult to breathe, wipe tears from my eyes and keep on laughing. 

Because Tonks is like the big sister I never had, a little protective of me, a little doting, showering us all with her humour, joking and laughing unapologetically, her hand resting over Remus’ knee, her body thrown over the sofa in the same lazy, elegant way that reminds me vividly of Sirius.

And Remus, having shed his professor’s coat - I can’t help but notice how smart and subtle he is, how steady in his manner of speaking, almost like a link to balance the energy of his wife, a firm, settling presence to Sirius’ spirited one.

Despite everything I’ve learned lately, despite knowing what I now know, I can’t help but feel light and safe surrounded by these people, cared for and protected. My lids flutter shut as I listen to Remus and Sirius’ banter and I giggle, my head nestled against Harry’s shoulder.

* * *

We hop on the train on the last Saturday of April and ride it all the way to Devon, Hermione snug at my side, nose ever stuck between the pages of a book.

“And you’re not attacking Ron, yeah?” 

“Yes, Harry, I will refrain from attacking my brother. Publicly.”

Hermione’s gaze wavers from the ink black letters only for a moment, then it’s once again glued to her book.

“Be nice,” Harry winks and brushes his nose over mine.

I relax, thoughts of murderers and conspiracies tightly shut under lock and key in a corner of my mind. Harry and I, we’ve discussed carrying on with our lives like we had before, staying as uninvolved as possible, safe in the knowledge that we are protected. We’ll take the measures that we need to take, but we will also live as happy as it’s possible for us to be right now. And, most of all, we’ll keep our baby safe, forever safe with us.

It’s George that meets us at the station, leather jacket, leather boots and a giant smirk on his lips, a black helmet with flames licking around it at his hip.

“You do realise that we can’t all fit on a motorcycle, right?” I grin and lean in to kiss his cheek.

“Yeah, I’m just here to add a bit of cool to that,” he snickers, a finger hooked over his back. We all turn to see Bill parking his new family van, a big blue thing that barely fits in the parking lot.

“How very charitable of you,” I snort and wave at Bill, hurrying to drag him into a big, little sister hug. 

“Woah,” Bill exhales as I crash into him, ruffling my hair. “You look brilliant, Ginny! Hello, Harry, Hermione.”

And soon we’re all strapped in the van and George is revving his motorcycle, daring Bill to race him home. Bill laughs, his long ponytail dangling briskly over his back, and steps on the pedal.

It’s warm outside and everybody’s already in the orchard, installing the table when we arrive after the Weasley wacky race: Fleur with her little girls bouncing plates in their small hands, Fred and Charlie engrossed in a war behind Mum’s back, using chair legs as sabres and our old silver platters as their shields, Ron draping an arm around Hermione, planting a kiss on her parted lips, and Dad, horn-rimmed glasses and his incredible kindness, opening his arms for me the moment I step through the back door.

It’s a delicious meal, the atmosphere surrounding us as warm as the late April air outside. My brothers swap jokes, making me spit out my food under Mum’s glowering look and Dad’s amused chuckle. We eat and talk and it’s so very nice to be back home.

“Ouch,” Ron winces as I happen to step on his foot on my way to the loo.

“You know what it’s for,” I grumble under my breath and make my way past him.

I notice Harry waiting for me in the hallway when I return from the bathroom, hands shoved deep inside his pockets. I saunter to him, curling my arms around him, my body melting into his.

“Do you need a moment?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiles, leaves a small kiss on my forehead. “Yeah, that would be good. Somewhere quiet maybe?”

I grin. “I know just the place.”

Grasping for his hand, I take Harry up each flight of stairs until we reach the last one, the one with Ron’s room. Without speaking, I tap a space on my left and the ladder drops, startling Harry.

His eyebrows raise but I just grin, nudging him to take the first step. Soon, we’re on the roof.

“Welcome to my heaven,” I make a show of welcoming him and he nods his head, amused.

Harry leans down and on his back and I join him, resting my head over his chest, palm over his heart. He traces his fingers through my hair, one hand flying to his pocket now and then as we sit in silence, basking in each other’s presence and the sky igniting into flames as it sets.

“I know my life is a complicated mess,” Harry starts, shifting slightly.

“We’ll detangle it somehow, this mess, this beautiful, twisted mess. Together, alright?” I hurry to promise, head dipping to take in his handsome face, glasses slightly askew on his nose.

He smiles, hand feeling his pocket once again. 

“Yeah. Together,” Harry nods and swallows, slowly raises enough to slip his palm into his pocket and pull it out swiftly, something hidden inside his fist.

Red and orange play over his features as he opens his palm, allows me to see what’s inside. My heart suddenly stops.

“Marry me?”

His timid grin, the hand rumpling his hair, the green inside his eyes shimmering with the sunset - I cannot possibly take it all in, I will surely explode.

So I just kiss him, long and deep and hard, arms knotting around his body, mouth slanted hungrily over his and I never want to let go.

Later, Ron drives Hermione, Harry, my ring and I back to London.

“Have you looked into renting something, Hermione?” I ask from the back seat. We’ll soon be graduating and student contracts are about to terminate as well. Even if we haven’t discussed it, it will definitely affect us too.

“Well, I could always go back to my parents in Hampstead. Heathgate’s alright, really, and my parents are wonderful. I mean, I’ve always wanted to give it a go on my own,” she replies, bushy hair bouncing over the headrest of the front seat.

“Brilliant!” Ron comments as he drives, eyes never leaving the road but I can hear the delight in his tone. “Didn’t reckon your parents fancied having me round all the time.”

“Oh, all the time?” Hermione quips, just as pleased. It’s funny how they dance around each other, those two besotted fools.

“Yeah. Sounds alright to you?”

“It sounds brilliant, actually.”

I can see Hermione’s hand slipping over my brother’s knee, the smile growing on her face as she watches him. I think of us and our future.

“What about us?” I lean into Harry, whispering. “Where will we live? We graduate next month and the contract’s nearly over…”

He covers my stomach with his palms, determination in his eyes. “Somewhere safe, I promise.”

* * *

I’m a bit torn at this point to be honest, since it seems every area of my life seems to be pulling my fraught, hormone fueled emotions in a different direction. One moment Harry’s proposing and all I can see is a blissful, golden future together with our baby that’s a little bit him, a little bit me. I’m all soppy, picturing picket fences and more little freckly babies with terrible eyesight and gangly legs for days. 

Then I’m ready to go out and buy tactical gear and hunt down a serial killer who’s somehow managed to evade capture and even suspicion while being one of the most horrendous murderers in London’s history. 

All of which generally combines into an urge to angry cry big, fat, ugly tears and eat a dozen doughnuts in oversized joggers stolen from Harry now that I’m thesis free and actually have time to do it (at least until feedback comes to slap me back to academic reality).

Which reminds me, I completely forgot my almost hourly panic that I won’t be able to find anything remotely suitable to drag over my ‘doing its best impression of a house’ body for a wedding in about a month? I mean, if June’s sort of busy with giving birth, I guess May’s our only option, isn’t it?

And for a brief moment, I ask myself what am I thinking? Why would I possibly be doing this to myself?

Which is, oddly enough, basically what Ron’s asking me while I tunnel down further in my slightly manic rabbit hole. “Sorry, what?”

Ron rolls his eyes at me - he should try being pregnant, engaged, and a student and we’ll see if his focus is all it should be - and repeats himself, “Why are we doing this again?”

I sip at my tepid tea and blow out a deep breath. “Because Harry wants to be involved and I’m currently more comfortable with rolling around than walking.”

After eyeing the biscuit tin on the table, Ron slumps in one of the empty seats, shoes and coat still on, and swipes a gingersnap. “Yeah, but why me? Hermione’s loads better, I haven’t a clue about babies except that they cry and poop all the time.”

I’ll say now, up front, that I find Ron’s helpless git act to avoid errands grating on my best day, but right now, with a baby living where my lungs prefer to be, death threats looming, and more terrifyingly, the close of my final semester of my degree, I’d really like to slap him silly. So if I’m a bit snippy, well, who could blame me? “Oh, I have no doubt a spy like you will handle it brilliantly, Ronald.”

Either my self control is better than I realised, or Ron’s decided to give me something of a break in terms of sibling battle because he just whines rather than a full toe to toe. “God, would you let me live?”

“Nope,” and because I haven’t forgotten the kindness of his tempered retort, I add, “Thanks for taking Fred and George’s car, by the way.”

“It’s my car too!” 

I smirk to myself at his yelp - can’t be a total pushover. What type of mother would I be? 

Ron grunts, “I covered the last installment by myself.”

“Whatever.”

It’s at this point that I recall we have a witness to an admittedly immature back and forth between two alleged grown adults, and turn back to Hermione. Once I do, she’s looking a bit contrite, at least her version of it. Hermione’s never been one to cower or walk back, so if she’s even a little bit sorry I must really be in the right. Or at least have a good argument for it. 

She fiddles with one of her many coloured pens currently laid out on the table. “You’re still mad at me for not telling you, aren’t you?”

Again, I feel my heart flutter a bit at her somber expression, and wow this whole pregnancy hormone thing is turning me into a softy. I wonder how much the boys got away with while Mum was pregnant. Maybe that’s how Dad got the little Ford Anglia project approved.

Hermione nudges the tin closer to me and ignores Ron’s distressed yelp at the increased distance between him and the confections. If she’s willing to get between a Weasley and food, perhaps I should give her honesty. It’s the least I can do, and it is a bit of a relief.

“A little, yes. But you’re organising my wedding, which means you have to dodge Mum so I’m redirecting all my displeasure towards Ron.”

Apparently he’s taking a real beating today. Serves the git right for thinking he can play spy and meddle behind my back. I don’t care how tight Harry’s bum is, sibling bonds should always win. Though I don’t think Harry’s bum really figured into Ron’s decision. 

In fact, probably quite the opposite...Maybe someday I’ll be in the mood to dissect what loyalty and instinct it was that motivated Ron’s little tenure as secret keeper, but for now, I’ll sit in my righteous indignation.

For her part, Hermione looks sheepish as she sips at her own tea, “Harry made me promise.”

I blow out a long breath, ignoring the tiny voice that says ‘get good at those deep breaths while you still can’ and decide to shuffle this little confessions session to an end. “I know, I know. He was afraid, a lunatic is running loose, ready for revenge, there’s a secret club about to take him down and all our lives might be at risk. We’re past all that.”

Hermione, to her credit I suppose, does not look convinced. “Are we really?”

Perhaps another bout of honesty will put this conversation out of its misery. “No, I’m just looking forward to planning the wedding. For now, mass murderers can bite me.”

Luckily, Harry arrives just after that little joke leaves my lips. I tend to joke to deal, Harry is trying, but generally I joke and he broods. So I’ve been trying my best to keep my dark humor tempered when he’s around. 

When I look at him, my hand unconsciously goes to the ever growing mound of love that is my midsection, and Harry’s face lights. 

Mound of love? I vomit a bit inside my mouth, wow. I must have turned mental, there’s no way I’m such a sap. 

“Is he moving again?” Harry asks, nuzzling my temple.

I grin. “Always.”

“Somersaults?” He laughs, hands framing my belly as he kneels in front of me. 

At this point, I’m assuming Hermione is making some sort of ‘they’re so adorable’ face and Ron’s faking sick, but honestly I couldn’t give a rat’s arse about either of them at the moment. I’m not over them being in the Order while I’m not, okay?

And of all the emotions, feelings, and thoughts currently coursing through my body, the one constant, the one I know is real, is my love for Harry and this little beautiful thing growing inside me. So much that I can even say with substantial certainty that even normal non-pregnant Ginny would absolutely think something that soppy. 

While I’m making pronouncements to myself, and while Harry is looking at me like I hung the moon, I will also say that if anyone - homicidal maniac or not - even looks at Harry or my baby crooked I’ll...do something drastic. Sadly, right now the soppy teary Ginny is coming back and my bloodlust creativity has diminished. But the point stands.

Harry, blissfully unaware of my almost untrackable train of thought, leaves a long, blistering kiss on my lips and rubs his nose against mine for a second. “We’ll be back in a few.”

I can’t resist another kiss. 

I wave them off with a scowl for Ron and slap on the butt for Harry, then turn back to Hermione.

“Alright then, how should we tackle this?” She slaps her hands over her knees as she asks.

“By keeping in mind that I’ll only be weeks from giving birth and it will probably be a warm day. The doctor made me promise to stay away from the heat, not stress too much and make as little effort as possible.”

Hermione throws me a bit of a pitying look.

“Sounds like you need your wedding to be in your bed.”

“Vile condition, hypertension, isn’t it?” I sigh, feeling a little sorry for myself.

Hermione smiles encouragingly, pen spinning between her fingers. “We’ll work something out. We simply have to avoid your parents’ house, your house or Sirius’ house so we don’t guide Riddle’s lot to your homes, you know, just in case. Maybe a public place but somewhere we can keep our security, people from the Order.”

I snort, ready to give up. “Why don’t I have my wedding online and be done with it.”

“No, no, there has to be something,” she comforts me as her teeth sink into the back of the pen, her thinking face on.

A moment of silence stretches between us. I look at her face scrunched up in concentration, I look at the ring fitting perfectly around my finger. And then it hits me.

“What if we got married at the City Hall and then had a small party in one of the pubs near the Thames?”

Hermione’s eyes widen, her interest piqued. 

“We can book it for the day so it’s private. I’ll take care of the decor and meals, of course, get a clear confirmation on the booking,” she mutters to herself, her pen scribbling furiously on a planner. “What date are we discussing?”

“Well, we’re graduating on the 20th - what about Saturday, May 27th?”

“It will be done,” Hermione declares and slams her planner shut. “I’ll liaise with Mrs Weasley and everything will be perfect.”

I want to jump over the table and lovingly tackle her to the ground.

“You’re a star for doing this so close to our final exams.”

“Oh, please,” she shrugs as if to say ‘it’s nothing’, even though it really is. “I already know the textbooks by heart and I’ve put together a strong revision timetable.”

“You’re a little scary sometimes, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” she grins and fits an entire biscuit into her mouth. “If I leave now, I’ll have time to look at some options near the City Hall and squeeze in an extra chapter today.”

I walk around the table and envelop her in a bear hug, hoping she understands how important she is to me, how great a friend she really is.

“You’re the cleverest, most amazing person, Hermione! Thank you!”

“You deserve a superb wedding, despite the world seemingly plotting against you. And the best for your baby - speaking of, if there’s anything you need, tell me and I’ll jot it down on the wedding gifts wish list and make sure someone will buy it.”

I laugh, releasing her from the tight hug. “That should be alright. Sirius is paying for today’s baby shopping spree.”

“And Harry said yes?” Hermione questions, her tone one of surprise and I grin mischievously. 

“Sirius insisted Harry doesn’t have a say in the amount he’ll spend on his grandson, they quarrelled like two old hens for the entire two weeks he spent with us and finally Sirius won. Reckon it hurt Harry’s pride to accept, but he probably understood it would’ve hurt Sirius more if he kept him out of this too.”

“He has a good heart, Sirius.”

“Yeah, he really does. Thanks again, Hermione.”

We hug again before she leaves and I practically skip back to my text books, my mind very far away from the fast approaching finals.

Five cups of tea and thousands of wedding related daydreams later, Harry and Ron manage to return with a ridiculous amount of boxes.

“We’ve done it,” Ron announces, one hand flying through the air. “Bought the entire store, we have.”

I’m not entirely convinced if I should be amazed or alarmed.

“A little overzealous?”

Ron rolls his eyes and points at Harry over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, Dad here couldn’t help himself and the lady that showed us around had a field day.”

Harry shrugs, unimpressed as he nudges a box away with his foot to clear enough space for his shoes to land on the hallway floor. “I want to spoil my son, alright? Apparently I’m that person.”

I jump over a particularly long box and kiss him.

“Where are we going to put all this?”

“Around the house and create a box-free walking route?” Harry grins, guilty.

“You do realise we’re moving in a month, right?”

To his credit, Harry does look a bit dumbfounded when he answers, all honesty and sheepishness. “I, er - I actually forgot.”

I shake my head and smile at him, thinking of the days he’ll have his son snug at his chest, glorious days we’ll spend together as a family.

“I love you.”

He dips his head low, kisses me gently. “I love you, too.”

“Alright, I’m out,” Ron grimaces somewhere in the back and soon enough the front door shuts. It’s only us again, the very soon to be Mr and Mrs Potter.


	17. mister&missus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just two more! TWO.MORE!

Calling what I felt over the past weeks as ‘panic’ would be an incredible understatement. I was not panicked; I was completely terrified.

Terrified as a bride to be? Nope, buddy, you’re wrong.

Terrified I’ve unknowingly stumbled into the middle of a conspiracy theory that might put my life at harm’s end? Wrong again.

Terrified I’m graduating? You bet. And I’ve never been more grateful to have met Hermione and her planners.

Harry and I spend many white nights cramming (well, I’m cramming, at least, while he seems to stare blankly or doodle deers all over his textbooks). We stuff ourselves silly with pizza and coffee until the baby kicks hard enough, throwing a little tantrum inside my stomach.

“Alright, alright, I get it. No more coffee and pizza,” I grumble, massaging my stomach in gentle circles. “Harry, look what your son is putting me through.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the leftover pizza for you,” Harry says with a grin and I kick the air in his general direction, pouting. 

“It’s not fair, the way you gorge yourself and those abs are as taut as ever.”

He stops mid step, turns back with a blooming smirk, one hand slipping inside his shirt to lift it up slightly. “You mean these abs?”

“You wait until I get this baby out and recover the ability to move,” I huff, cross my arms over my chest, irritated.

Harry winks, “Counting on it.”

To my surprise, we do get through all our finals alive - even though Remus has Hermione and I jumping through intellectual hoops, while Harry recounts his exam with Professor Moody as nothing short of being permanently scarred.

“Constant vigilance, the old man yells when you least expect,” Harry sighs and ruffles his hair, looking a bit fraught. “He literally organised a justice court session where we had to prosecute a serial killer. Only that we didn’t know who the killer was from the five suspects he brought in. Mental that one, absolutely mental.”

My mind wanders briefly to Riddle and the Order, wonder if Moody made Harry go through the simulation on purpose. He promised he won’t get involved. You promised you wouldn’t get involved, Harry, you promised.

But then I wipe the terror off my face and kiss him. 

“We did good, didn’t we?” I smile against his mouth, pressing my body into his.

“Yeah. Look at us, nearly graduates.”

We take a moment to remember everything that was, think of everything that will be, our fingers twining together as we walk out of the campus together and towards the rest of our lives.

* * *

I fix my graduation cap firmly on the top of my head and push past the waves of fresh graduates to find Harry. And there he is, his back turned to me, leaning in to swap gossip with Hermione as she covers her mouth and giggles joyfully. 

I place my palm on his shoulders and he shifts and smiles widely at me. He’s very handsome, cap askew and emerald eyes glinting with pride.

“How do I look?”

“Handsomely,” I smile back and take his hand. Handsomely and mine, all mine, to be married in a week!

“Absolutely dashing, dear,” a voice I know well floats towards us, twisting with the sound of footsteps as Ron sneaks backstage to find us.

“Oi, stealing my future husband, are you?” I swipe at his shoulder, my heart leaping slightly at the word ‘husband’.

“Come on, it’s starting,” Hermione nudges us, her breath hitched in excitement.

Ron kisses her shortly, then looks at Harry. “Sirius says it’s alright.”

Harry, in turn, nods once and then his arm is around my shoulders and we’re walking to a hall full of people, proud faces, stern faces, tear-streaked faces. Mum waves at us ecstatically, Fred, George, Bill, and Charlie flashing double thumbs-up as Dad smiles kindly and Percy displays his full poise and properness, stiff as ever in his show of emotions. Next to them, Sirius leans lazily in his chair, winks at us, his face breaking into a grin as his steely eyes lock with Harry’s - proudest dad.

As we take our places on the stage, calmly waiting for the Provost to call each of us to the front and hand us the diploma we’ve earned with sweat and tears, I notice a line of people lurking in the far back. I can’t quite see their faces, but they seem to have a certain air about them as though they’re here to watch, ready, vigilant. Constant vigilance, wasn’t it?

“Abbot, Hannah,” the Provost calls the first name and my mind suddenly clears. It’s done, we’ve done it!

We shake the hand of the Dean, grin toothily at our friends and family, smile for the pictures and throw our caps into the sky with the closing of Hermione’s speech as Valedictorian. And even in the bittersweetness of this end of an era moment I know that I regret nothing, absolutely nothing, that it had been, in fact, the best decision I have ever made.

“Well done, dears,” Mum calls as she hurries to hug Harry, Hermione and I the moment we hop down the stage. “Very well done, all of you.”

We chant our thanks in chorus, hug everyone, throw our caps again for the family picture. I photograph Harry and Sirius with their arms draped around each other’s shoulders, grinning identically, heads dipped towards one another until the crowns almost touch - one mussed and wild, one with silky black hair falling over his shoulders, shining elegantly in the sunlight.

Close to where we stand, I catch a glimpse of Ron kissing Hermione’s cheek, bushy brown hair caressing his face as he leans in, and a brown-haired woman with subtle curls - Hermione’s mum, probably - clicking the camera button just at the right moment, a memory to save forever. 

We all go for fish and chips after - and Ron invites Hermione’s parents to join us, which I think is very sweet of him. You won’t catch me saying it out loud but I do feel they make a good pair, Hermione and Ron. I smile at them for a moment, then let Harry take my hand as we fall into step, the sun warming our cheeks.

Mum tutts as she inspects our beloved campus pub while we wait for our orders, the venue clearly not up to par with Molly Weasley’s cleaning standards. 

“It’s a student pub, Mum, not a hospital” I snort as she glides her finger over the tabletop and scans the results of her dutiful inspection.

I clink my glass of water against everyone’s pints, enjoying the absolute feel of relief that washes over me: it’s done, we’re done!

And the significance of feeling this in the very place where it all began is not lost on me - I squeeze Harry’s leg under the table, mouth ‘remember?’ subtly at him. He grins and places his palm on my belly.

As if reading our minds, Song 2 by Blur starts playing on the radio and both Harry and I burst into laughter. 

“Listen carefully this time, won’t you, Harry?” I whisper, hiding my snicker behind the water. He sticks his tongue out at me, his eyes boring into mine, rolling flashback after flashback of that night until I blush. Us kissing, us naked in his shower, getting lost, melting into each other as the water drips over our bodies. My body coiled around his, my back against the tiles as he thrusts hungrily, heatedly into me, moan after moan ripping from my throat as life starts growing roots inside me. He pushes deeply one last time and we’ve created a new life.

“Does this make it our song, you think?” I clear my throat and change the subject, take another gulp of water to wash down the memories.

A look of smugness travels fast over his features. “It definitely brought us together.”

“Oh, dear,” Mum interrupts, concerned, and I wonder how much she actually understood. “Young people used to fall in love on Celine Dion or something more romantic than pots and pans banged together.”

Sirius snorts, eyes straying towards Mum for a heartbeat, then he returns his full attention to the conversation he’s having with Bill and the twins. Next to him, Dad is highly engrossed in a conversation on dental health with Mr and Mrs Granger while Percy and Hermione seem to have tackled the perks of bureaucracy with unsettling gusto. Ron and Charlie, both holding one of Bill’s daughters on their knees, have an easy exchange on football while Mum feels it is the perfect moment to grill us on every single aspect of our future, from the wedding to where we’ll move to who will take care of the baby, peppered here and there with Fleur’s remarks. By the end Mum’s looking harassed, Harry’s bitten his cheeks raw to stop himself from laughing over Fleur’s effect on Mum, and I privately congratulate myself for engineering granting full wedding organising rights to Hermione.

Sirius walks us home as the sun sets behind us, asking Harry to stay outside for a moment as he whispers something in his ear.

I look at him questioningly when he’s back, fear clutching faintly at my heart. We’re alright, we have to be.

“Death Eaters,” Harry says, all humour and goodwill fading from his voice, “lurking around campus at the ceremony.” 

* * *

I force myself to ban all thoughts of evil and murderers from my mind over the next six days, plunging into wedding planning with all my strength, working countless hours next to Hermione. I buy a simple white dress with lace finishings, I choose wildflowers over irises, I visit the venue five times and almost switch to a new one twice until Hermione ushers me home and forbids me to set another step there until Saturday.

After that, there’s nothing left to do except fiddle my thumbs and try not to think about any looming danger as the days pass slowly.

On the (very early) morning of May 27th, Harry James Potter wakes me up with a kiss that has me tugging him back into bed with me, wedding be damned.

“Easy,” Harry chuckles, pulling away from me. How is he already dressed and looking like all my fantasies brought to life?

“It’s too early to look this perfect,” I yawn, drag the covers over my head as he opens the drapes. 

“I know - couldn’t sleep.”

“Nervous?”

He thinks on it a bit before he answers, hand flying to his hair. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, I only plan to do this once.”

“I love you,” I sigh, eyes glazed over as I melt into a big puddle of love. Honestly, this man spits poetry at six in the morning when I can hardly build a coherent thought without maximum effort.

“Let’s get you up and running,” Harry grins and very rudely draws the covers off me to my loud protests. But, as always, he has his way and soon he’s shepherding me to the bathroom, guiding me with his hands resting on my shoulders as I push back and laugh, pretending I want to get back to bed when really all I want is to become his wife.

“Still ready to marry me?” I ask, grinning, when I’m finally dressed and prepared for the day.

Harry silently sets down a large bouquet of wildflowers and walks toward me, his face serene, his eyes beautiful emerald pools behind his glasses. 

“More than ever,” he whispers and kisses me, bringing his forehead to mine till I feel the cold frame of his glasses press into my skin. “You’re so beautiful, Gin.”

“Even with this great big belly poking out of my wedding dress?” I laugh teasingly against his lips.

“Especially. If I could bottle up this moment -”

“Selfie, then?”

Harry grins and pulls out his phone and instantly we have our picture perfect moment, groom and bride and parents to be, smiling happily, dazedly with our faces smashed against each other, rounded belly showing from underneath white lace. 

We walk out of the City Hall not long after as Mr and Mrs Potter, hands held tightly, our grins stretching so far up our faces it hurts but we don’t care now. We’re Mr and Mrs Potter now - when eight months ago we were just two strangers in a uni pub, getting sloshed and dancing badly on a rock song. 

The small crowd cheers gleefully, Teddy showering us in confetti as little Vic throws flower petals in the air with her chubby fists. We laugh and smile at everyone as we pass, one hand on my belly, stopping to hug Ron and Sirius and Mum. We’re so happy we might find ourselves afloat, orbiting the Earth, orbiting the Sun for all we care.

“Spare a shilling, miss?”

I jolt out of George’s arms and spin to see a portly man bowing humbly at my feet, his soiled hands reaching for my dress, overgrown nails scratching at the laced material. He looks up at me, his eyes a wan colour, teeth protruding over his lips in a curious rat-like manner, the rags he wears touching the cobblestones. 

Then Sirius pushes me back forcefully and throws himself at the man, roaring words that make no sense. I stumble, trip over my feet but luckily Bill catches me before I hit the ground.

The ragged man jumps with surprising speed, Sirius’ body crashing on the ground where he’d been not a moment before. He runs, spares no glance over his shoulder and manages to roll inside a black car. It’s been there all along, waiting, and the man escapes. 

“Who was that?” Fred asks as he helps Sirius up to his feet.

“Pettigrew,” Sirius spits. “I have to go. Harry, Ginny,” he excuses himself with a nod in our direction.

“Oh, that vile man,” Mum cries as she clutches at her chest.

“It’s alright, Mum, he’s gone,” Bill says reassuringly but she lets out a sound that highly resembles an angry cat.

“I meant that Sirius Black. Honestly -”

“Not the moment, Mum, really,” George jumps in, reading my mind.

Mum immediately counters, outraged, “He pushed Ginny, dear! She’s in a very delicate condition, you know. We can’t just go about shoving her as we please.” 

“He was trying to protect her from the other man - you know, the actual miscreant.”

“Best we move, the venue is expecting us soon,” Hermione chirps before any other complaints can be tossed and thankfully we all start shuffling our feet, forcing ourselves to smile and be as normal as possible (which is nearly impossible on an average day anyway when my family’s involved).

“Don’t worry, Sirius’ll tighten security, alright?” Harry whispers when he’s certain no one’s watching us and I nod. Suddenly, I realise Remus and Tonks have slipped away too, Teddy walking giddly ahead of us with Vic’s hand in his.

The small pub looks like a page from a magazine: flowers everywhere and dim-lights and the Thames shining diamonds in the early summer sun. My heart inflates with happiness and I beam at Hermione, hug her tightly and shower her cheeks with kisses to tell her how grateful I am. When we break apart, her face is blushing and covered in lipstick.

We eat, we dance, we eat some more, we laugh and we love. The water outside turns from blue to shades of orange as the day rolls by, our hearts filled with joy, our cheeks warm with merry.

When the cake arrives, I nearly weep.

“Congratulations, Ginny and Harry Potter,” Harry reads proudly, popping the champagne and I hide my teary face into his chest. It’s all I ever wanted, it’s all I never knew I dreamed of.

Sirius swipes the bottle out of Harry’s hand and showers us with the cold liquid, booming at the top of his lungs that his son is married and we should all drink in his honour.

(Well, technically, what he says is ‘Get pissed, you bloody gits’ but I translated it for you).

“Who’s Pettigrew?” I ask later, when the champagne’s dried from my hair and my toes throb with pain. One hand on his shoulder, I claim a spot next to Harry on the terrace, my dress rolled in a heap to the side so I can finally, gloriously stretch my legs.

He seems lost somewhere deep inside the cold water of the river, hands clasped together between his knees. Slowly, he dips his head to the side and turns his gaze to me.

“Someone not dead, it seems.”

My eyebrows shoot up with curiosity, I lean into him, feel his body with mine.

“That’s very cryptic, Harry. Sirius went a bit mental when he saw him so he must’ve known that man very well.”

“It’s true,” Harry sighs. “Remember how I told you my parents, Sirius, and Remus were a group? Well, Pettigrew - Peter, he was part of it. Or pretended to be, I don’t know. Until one day when he started leaking information about the task force Mum and Dad were leading, about their private lives - just enough for Riddle to know where to find them.”

“Oh, Harry, that’s terrible,” I cry and my voice breaks. “He was their friend…”

Harry’s face changes, it hardens instantly, his eyes stern and cold behind his glasses. “He was never their friend. He betrayed them, Ginny, he couldn’t have been their friend.”

His head falls between his knees, his shoulders slouching and it’s difficult for me to see him like this - most of all today, our day.

“Hey, look at me,” I say gently, rubbing circles on his back, “it’s our wedding. We’re graduates, little Potter inside is due in less than a month. Despite the sadness and loss, we have so much else to celebrate, Harry, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he smiles tiredly, the dimple I love so much appearing faintly on his cheek. “Yeah, you’re right. Dance?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” I laugh and let him pull me to my feet. “Listen, d’you think he was there to spy on us?”

“Probably,” Harry agrees as we walk back to the middle of the pub, fit in with the rest of the dancing pairs as we begin to waddle slowly, out of tune. “Sirius was livid, Fletcher - from the Order, he was supposed to scan the area while we were inside.”

“Didn’t do much of a job, then.”

“Worse, he found out there was a deal happening a few streets from the City Hall and rushed in to cash on it. Idiot didn’t even realise he was being tricked,” Harry growls as we bounce on our feet in steady circles.

“Sounds like a character. I wouldn’t trust him with our baby, though.”

Harry lets out a derisive laugh, then grins. “Don’t worry, he’s probably not showing his face for a long time. Sirius might eat him alive.”

A champagne glass is pounded to death with a spoon near the bar and we all turn to see - Ron? A rather tipsy looking Ron, waving his hands haphazardly, urging us to be quiet, I think, and rather resembling a deranged, giant bird. 

“Ron, what the -” I start, but Fred and George both shush me, their eyes sparkling with mischief and glee as they pull out their phones.

“We’ve worked on getting him drunk all night,” George winks.

“Yeah, don’t ruin this for us, little sister. It’s all the happiness we’ve got now that you’re married and having left the safety of the family home,” Fred jumps in, words coated in fake innocence.

I roll my eyes very hard and brace myself for what will most definitely be a monumentally embarrassing moment. 

“Ladies and lords,” Ron starts importantly, words blending together as they stumble down his tongue. “Is that what you’re supposed to say at the beginning of a speech, ‘Ermione? Ladies and lords?”

“Ron, please,” Hermione tries to grab his arm and drag him to another country possibly, but he simply sways and bats her hands away.

“Not now, woman. I’m talking.” He loosens his tie and returns to the task at hand, elbow prompted on the bar counter for balance. “If women are ladies, then blokes should be lords, yeah?” Ron quips tipsily, impossibly proud of the conclusion he’d arrive at. “Anyway,” he follows on an exhale, “I love my sister, but I’ve always hated her boyfriends.”

Oh, god. 

“They just weren’t right, y’know? Massive gits, all of them. Except for Harry,” Ron sloshes on, to the delight of my brothers (sans Percy) and the sheer horror of the rest of us. Perhaps except Tonk, Remus, and Sirius, who seem to be enjoying themselves rather a lot, whiskey bottle swapped between their hands.

“D’you know he never even had a stag do? Yeah, that’s Harry,” Ron smiles tenderly, probably day-dreaming of him and my husband cuddled together. “An upstanding bloke, yeah. We ate pizza, had the best laugh watching Netflix. Yup, just me and my best mate Harry. Netflix and chill,” he plows on, sighing besottedly.

“That’s not what Netflix and chill means, little bro,” Charlie yells at him, bottle of beer spinning by its neck between his index and middle finger as Bill elbows him, snickering. Even Fleur giggles in the far back - well, more likely having a good laugh over the silliness of this congregation of British people - and this time I feel obliged to hand it to her, she’s right.

“Harry’s a mate!” Ron exclaims happily, completely ignoring Charlie’s remark and loudly clapping one hand on his knee. “Is he here? Harry, are you here, mate? You are, look at you, you are! I love you, mate, you’re the bestest” he suspires languidly and walks wobbly towards Harry. 

I briefly wonder whether this counts as cheating and if it’s enough for me to file for divorce. 

“Please let him kiss Harry,” Fred begs and the mental image alone is what makes me step between the two of them, one arm pressed against my brother’s stomach, pushing him back.

“Alright, Romeo, thanks for the speech. Hermione?”

Blushing furiously, Hermione takes him by one arm while Tonks helps her move him to a safer distance - and as far away from Mum as possible, who rather looks like she might slap someone. 

The night takes a wild twist after that, with everyone keen on pouring ridiculous amounts of alcohol down their throats after the children have been sent home. It’s chaos what happens and let me just say that I would’ve never thought I’d live to see Percy dancing on a table - another joint project of my brothers, I suppose.

“Do you think they’ll be alright if we left them here?” I whisper into Harry’s ear a little after midnight, press my lips to his temple, lingering.

“No,” Harry chuckles and shifts to wrap his arms around me, “but let’s do it anyway. It’s our wedding night.”

Butterflies fly in dizzying circles inside my stomach when he says it, when he takes my hand and tugs me after him, helps me onto Sirius’ motorcycle and takes me away, my knight on a steel horse.

“This is going to sound absolutely cheesy,” Harry claims as he very gallantly holds the door open for me, “but I’ve been dying to say it. Hello, Mrs Potter”

“Oh, hi, Mr Potter,” I purr and lock my arms around him, draw him in deep for a long, searing kiss.

Hands on my hips, he walks me backwards to the edge of the bed, gently presses me down on the mattress, kneels before me.

“You’ve had a long, long day,” he murmurs against my thighs, kissing the skin through my dress. “Let’s take care of you, yeah?”

My breath hitches when he lifts the dress just enough to nibble on the inside of both thighs, his tongue darting over the lace of my underwear. He hooks one finger inside the fabric to push it to the side.

“Harry,” I cry when his mouth slants against me, tongue slipping inside and I part my legs further, one hand grasping for his hair, grabbing at it, pushing his head deeper to me. 

I can’t see him, very rounded stomach obstructing the view, so I close my eyes to imagine him work, sending wave after wave of pleasure rippling through my body. My knees press against the edge of the bed, his knees rub over the carpet.

I come fast, all over him, his mouth still wet when he leans back to look at me, cheeks red with hunger and heat. I trace one finger over his jaw, feel the stubble, feel the shape, let my heart sing with the knowledge that I’m now his and he’s now mine, forever bound to each other. I’ve waited so long to find you, Harry.

He helps me out of my dress and gently lays me on our bed, wraps his arms around me as he rolls us to one side. And carefully, tenderly, slowly, his chest warmly pressed against my back, Harry makes love to me like he’s never done before, two souls melting into each other as dawn breaks outside, cracking the sky open with another day.

**Author's Note:**

> there will be 19 chapters in total and a real rollercoaster :) 
> 
> as always, i'd love to hear your feedback and thoughts! thanks for reading & hope you liked! <3


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